


The Really Big Porno

by mercilessBarnacle



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Deepthroating, Drunk Sex, Gay Sex, M/M, Making Love, Oral Sex, Public Sex, References to Drugs, Rough Oral Sex, Sex, Shameless Smut, Shower Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-17 10:02:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 48,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20619203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercilessBarnacle/pseuds/mercilessBarnacle
Summary: Sex scenes from "The Really Big One".





	1. I Need Your Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 24 of "The Really Big One"

“_Crowley_…” the angel sighed, his dreams rousing him in their excitement. The angel opened his blue eyes slowly, somewhat disoriented, feeling an ache that wasn’t present when he’d drifted to sleep.

The demon was still awake, holding Aziraphale firmly in his arms. He'd been gazing up, somewhat guiltily at the ceiling for hours, one hand still gently cupping the back of the angel's head, gingerly stroking his hair.

He wanted nothing more than to sleep himself, but knew there was no way he could. Lying there in the silence wasn't very conducive to his usual coping mechanisms. Without the distraction, or drunkenness, or sleep - it was just he and his thoughts. Too many of them. Most of them things he never wanted to think again.

He glanced down upon hearing his name, the movements of his hand stopping immediately. Crowley was half afraid he'd woken him up. "Angel," he murmured nonetheless - wanting Aziraphale to know he was there with him, still keeping him safe. He was entirely prepared to put him back to sleep - if necessary. He hoped it wouldn't be. He hated the feeling it gave him, revoking his control.

He wanted to apologize - bit it back for the moment. Just in case Aziraphale still had hope of drifting off again.

Aziraphale slowly found wakefulness, recovering from his memories and excitements. He nuzzled against the demon’s chest, increasingly aware of the thin, slender frame beneath him. He was in a daze of nostalgia, desire, and sleepiness, and reality was not yet invited to ruin the stupor. 

Aziraphale’s hands wandered, spoiling themselves on the demon’s trim stomach, the protrusion of hip bone. One of his hands traced its way along Crowley’s jaw line, resting itself in his fiery hair. 

The angel found himself kissing Crowley’s neck soon after, the kisses small, and light, and numerous. The gestures were gentle, and while they lacked forcefulness, they were saturated with indulgence. 

“Good morning,” he whispered, despite being unaware of the time. His breath tickled against the demon’s throat. “I missed you..”

Crowley felt himself begin to relax; it was a wonder he managed to at all, but then it was the wonder the angel was resting against him. It was a wonder he could feel the soft rise and fall of his breath, the warmth of it against the curve of his neck. A wonder he could hear his voice, musical even in its sleepiness, and speaking those quiet words.

His bright eyes slid shut, and Crowley's hand slid to cradle the nape of Aziraphale's neck, nestling perfectly into the space - just as, the demon felt, he fit perfectly beneath him.

"It's evening," he offered, not entirely helpful. It'd been the middle of the night when the quake roused him - which meant he'd been asleep for quite some time. "Mm," it was a lazy purr in his throat, one the other could feel beneath his lips as they dotted over pale skin. "Been here the whole time."

He'd also been an anxious wreck the whole time. But now that Aziraphale was awake the feeling had subsided - again pushed to the back of his mind, somewhere out of his awareness, far out of his reach. It was safe to say he'd missed him, too.

"Did you -- er," he couldn't tell whether the other knew he'd made him sleep. Couldn't tell if he'd be angry at him if he_ did_ know. He opted to say nothing, to hope for the best, and hated himself a little more for the fact.

"Did you sleep well?"

  
Aziraphale listened to the demon’s breathing, the music of his heartbeat. He was entirely unaware of the problems in the world, and he’d momentarily forgotten the traumas he’d recently undergone. The angel was unaware of everything besides _this_\- besides the love swelling in his heart, besides being here with his soul mate. Their bodies were two puzzle pieces, conforming together as if they were never meant to be apart- it was comforting and perfect. Aziraphale knew in his soul that no matter what, they just _belonged_ together. That they were made for each other. 

It was a rare moment of complete relaxation. He let the world fall away- the choice was easy- and focused his attention on Crowley. His hand slipped under the demon’s shirt, and traced circles on his warm, smooth skin.

“I had such lovely dreams” the angel said softly, kissing the demon’s skin a little more deeply. “about you”.

The demon inhaled deeply and held the breath for a moment, enjoying the scent of Aziraphale above him. He turned his head - shifted just so until he could bury his nose into the soft, white strands of hair. It still felt odd, that he was able to do so. Finally. And after he'd thought he'd lost it all again -- it would've been like the universe, to rip this from his grasp the moment he'd finally embraced it.

His hold on Aziraphale tightened faintly at the thought. The angel's fingers were moving against his skin, and it was enough to pull him back before it spiralled any further. The demon's torso, he realized, with a pang of nervousness, was still covered in scratches from when the angel had clung to him upon waking - had all but clawed at him in his desperation. He couldn't do anything about it, now, and cursed himself for not thinking to sooner.

"What'd you dream?" he asked, perhaps hoping to delay the inevitable. He'd slipped him thoughts of the Garden - nothing beyond that. Had hoped it'd be enough to conjure good things, rather than the horrors he'd recently faced. "Was I impressive as I am in the waking world?"

  
Aziraphale giggled. “Nothing is as good as the real thing,” he insisted. “I dreamt of older times. The Garden. Sumer. Rome.” Aziraphale conveniently left out Greece. It wasn’t so much the dream that had him hot and bothered – the young attractive men, the party; it’s what he wished would’ve happened all those years ago. He hungrily remembered the demon’s robe, undone- the pale skin that was tantalizing to all who looked upon it. The fantasies infected his thoughts, and he found it difficult to concentrate on anything else. Crowley could’ve easily had him that night, yet he didn’t take the opportunity. The modesty maddened him even more, as he reflected on the demon’s temperance. 

His newly freed hand guided the demon’s chin downward, enough for their lips to meet each other. The angel kissed him slowly, deeply. There was a slow creeping passion working its way into the embrace. Before long, Aziraphale found himself kissing more forcefully, his tongue searching for the other, little murmurs of pleasure escaping his throat. The angel wasn’t good at hiding his intentions, and he didn’t feel the need to try. Crowley knew what he wanted, what he ached for.

  
"Rome," a grimace immediately overcame his expression. For Crowley, it was not an overly happy memory. The visit with Aziraphale had been nice, with the exception of the persistent interruptions. It'd been, perhaps, the first time the demon had felt true jealousy - not that he'd known it back then. Back then, he'd attributed it to the bad mood he'd already been in. Now he understood.

Crowley allowed Aziraphale to guide him, the hand at his nape tensing for a moment and then immediately relaxing once more. It was a little funny, how it seemed to take him by surprise each time; the angel seemed so forthright in his affections, whereas Crowley was stuck, constantly pausing to remind himself there was no longer an unspoken barrier between them.

His intensity matched Aziraphale's, followed the gradual change. He took his time, lips parting on a shared breath before his tongue crept forth to meet the other's, tasting, exploring. It flicked eagerly against his as those quiet sounds were lost between them, and after a moment Crowley pulled away. He didn't create any real distance between them, though he slitted his eyes open - watched Aziraphale's expression as his tongue darted outward to trace his lower lip. Slowly, he angled upward to draw it between his own, sucking it gently between his teeth.

"D'you know," he murmured, once he'd let his lip go with a gentle tug, "I almost asked to stay with you in Rome," he never would've. But the thought had crossed his mind. He recalled the cellar, how much he'd liked it - not just for the wine.

  
The angel inhaled sharply, and enjoyed the unexpected sensation of the demon’s toying mouth, desperately wishing it would explore elsewhere. His lip tingled upon release, and it sent a shiver up his spine. Aziraphale’s face began to flush with want and he took a brief, grounding breath. His eyes glistened with temptation, hanging on the demon’s every movement, and he stared up into Crowley’s dazzling visage with an overwhelming sensation of desire. When the demon spoke, Aziraphale stared at his lips in coveted fascination. 

With great effort, the angel hung onto his composure, despite his thoughts screaming for more. “Why didn’t you ask to stay with me?” he answered breathily, still eyeing the demon’s lips with despondent longing. “I’ve always loved your company. It would have been quite nice.” After a brief pause, in which he smiled lovingly, Aziraphale admitted, “Rome was ever so lonely”. 

The angel found his hand gently tracing itself over Crowley’s collarbone, his touch delighting in the silken skin stretched tautly over bone.

  
The hand at Aziraphale's nape wandered lazily to cup his jaw, and the demon's thumb angled up, slowly making its way across the other's lip as he spoke. He loved his lips, the subtle pout they settled into even when he wasn't, seemingly any time they weren't quirked into a smile. Presently, his focus was on Aziraphale's eyes.

He couldn't tear his own away. Didn't care to try. "I wasn't invited," he said simply, as if it were a perfectly reasonable explanation. "Didn't blame you. Mortal enemies and all that," the words left him in a slow drawl; he knew all too well Aziraphale was transfixed on his lips, and wanted to give him something to watch. "You seemed to have a lot of friends," the words weren't jealous now - looking back on it, Crowley knew he'd been ridiculous. He wasn't above playing at it, though.

Eyes still lidded and filled with nothing short of pure adoration, Crowley stilled for a moment to bask in the angel's gentle touch. Its warmth lingered, his skin tingling beneath it, blooming at the edges of his awareness.

Eventually, Crowley began to shift. It was a slow process, and the demon's lips nestled somewhere beneath Aziraphale's jawline, nuzzling thoughtless kisses to the skin. He moved them both, lowering the angel until his back met the soft linens beneath them. The demon's frame bracketed him from the side, form flush to his, until he finally settled atop him, blanketing him, his lips sought out his adam's apple, parted in a gentle bite.

The entire process was painfully slow, but he lavished attention upon him all the while, kissing the soft skin of his neck, his jaw, the crook of his shoulder. Crowley's gaze always found its way back to Aziraphale's face in between, the soft (albeit markedly more gaunt) curves of his features, his parted lips. Measuring his reactions. He expected he'd have to stop at any moment, and was ready to do so at the first sign of discomfort from his angel.

"I wanted to stay and drink more of your wine. Read more of your poems," the words were a low hum against his skin, just over his collarbone. "I don't think you'd finished them."

The angel watched the demon over enunciate, lips tantalizing him with their fluid movements. He knew it was for his own enjoyment, but that didn’t stop him from savoring the show to the fullest extent. 

“It’s not the same,” he lamented, “Having _friends_”. No matter how many _friends_ Aziraphale had made over the years, they never replaced his growing loneliness. It was a feeling of absence that festered for centuries, always as if he were missing something or, as he’d come to understand, someone.

He let Crowley reposition himself with a soft exhale, his breath and pulse quickening in tandem. The serpent took his time- excruciatingly so- and Aziraphale found himself breathless, his eyes all but pleading for more. The pink blush on his cheeks brought life to his pale skin and brought with it a fervid lust. 

“Mm...” he sighed, delighting in Crowley’s weight, the lips against his throat. “I don’t recall reading any poetry together…” he mused, only half-aware of having a conversation at all.

While his own eyes were awash in a familiarly lustful haze, there was a certain awareness there - attentive - thoroughly absorbing every quiet breath, sound, flicker of emotion that crossed his angel's features. "I know," he agreed, a cooling breath over dampened skin as he pulled free of a wet kiss to the juncture of neck and shoulder.

Crowley did know, in a way. The difference between he and Aziraphale was that he'd never really tried to have_ friends_ \- of any sort. He'd drifted in and out of various lives, a fleeting presence; the demon never lingered longer than had been necessary to accomplish whatever he'd sought them out for to begin with. Sometimes it had been selfish boredom. Sometimes it had been lust. Sometimes it had been a need to fill the same lonely hollow, however temporarily. Most often, it was work: temptation, influence. the same necessary evils that drove him to most every inconvenience he'd had to put up with throughout the centuries.

The demon's narrow hips sunk into place over Aziraphale's as he straddled him, letting his weight settle comfortably against him. His fingers hooked into the fabric at his collar, urging it lower as his mouth continued to explore. He delighted in the flush dusted over pale skin, the want in his eyes, and continued to attend it at the same leisurely pace. It was as if he were intent on worshipping every inch of flesh that was exposed to him - and maybe he was. The unhurried pace suggested nothing else, nothing but the want to instill him with all the love that burned so fiercely in his heart.

It belonged to him, after all. It always had.

"We didn't. I read it. While I was exploring. You must not've noticed," there was a hint of amusement in his tone, and he glanced up beneath heavily-lidded eyes, the entirety of his sclera still glinting gold, unchecked. "I liked it," he assured, before Aziraphale had a chance to become too embarrassed, and Crowley flattened his hands to his chest, parting the fabric so that he could press a firm kiss to his sternum.

Aziraphale relaxed into peaceful enjoyment. He wrapped his arms around the demon. His left hand was underneath Crowley’s dark shirt, tucked against the small of his back, urging him closer. His right hand wandered- sometimes caressing the curve of his shoulder, sometimes flitting down around his ribs, or tracing a line up to his jaw. It eventually settled on the front of the demon’s thigh, lightly rubbing over top of the well-fitted pants assiduously. 

There was a quiet sensuality to the moment, as they both savored the other’s flesh, all whispers and breath. Aziraphale could feel an increasing _need_ and ache, but there lacked tension. Instead of frenzied burning lust, there was a slow, kindled passion. The torrent of fervid insatiability was replaced with a humid, all-encompassing love. The overall energy, although woven with desire and lust, was harmonious and tranquil, loving. 

Aziraphale found himself lost in the glittering golden eyes which adored him so thoroughly. It was a look that he’d only stolen glances of- Crowley always seemed to hide it behind glasses, or turned away in an attempt to secure his secret longing. But there was no need for secrets, not now. He felt exposed in a way like never before, as he allowed himself to be mesmerized and quietly consumed by the demon’s honeyed irises, letting them wisp themselves into the chambers of his soul.

“They were always written for you anyway” breathed the angel, relishing the warm mouth teasing the bare skin of his chest. He’d only ever been motivated to write poetry in a drunken stupor- coincidentally when his repressed desire found its way out of its cage- and the subject of those desires remained unchanged. He’d never willingly divulge these poems, but it was so long ago that the angel couldn’t remember specific reasons to be embarrassed. His mind was occupied by other things, presently, and had little room for anything other than the demon perched above him, and the love this beautiful creature exuded.

"Not always," he teased, the murmur lost to Aziraphale's skin as a dull shade of red crept up his own neck, overtaking his usual pale tone. He hoped it'd go unnoticed.

The fabric seemed to part for Crowley's fingers as he willed it, and he carried on in his slow descent. He wasn't watching as closely now, but his overall focus had not shifted. His aim - his only aim - was to spoil the angel beneath him, to let him bask in the endless indulgence Crowley'd only given him a fraction of throughout the years.

The whole of it was nearly overpowering.

"There are a lot of poems about _you,_" he purred against his ribs, devoid of any urgency as the tip of his tongue tasted the subtle curve of bone. He felt as if he were sinking into a warm bath, one he could easily luxuriate in for hours. "Never found one that gets it right, though."

His hips were still firm against Aziraphale's, a grounding point between them. They flexed slightly, as if an afterthought, as his own thighs parted to give Aziraphale's hand more freedom to roam. He bent over him at the waist - nearly impossibly, at this point - as his mouth sought the soft skin beneath the angel's ribcage. While his teeth occasionally grazed him, there was nothing rough or hurried about any of his attentions, small offerings against his skin.

"I've seen Heaven. The galaxies," he was mirroring his path along to the other side, his fingers trailing in the fast-cooling wake of his lips, his tongue. "All the wonders of the world," he nuzzled at the space just above Aziraphale's navel with affection that would've been misplaced, were the situation unfolding any differently. "None of them," a deliberate kiss to the same spot, and Crowley's eyes met Aziraphale's anew, "are half as beautiful, angel."

The fingers of either hand spread up along his ribs, trailed his sides, delicate upon sensitive skin. "I don't think anyone's been able to put you into words."

The angel’s hand accepted the parted thigh gratefully, trailing lightly along its length, savoring the toned muscle and overall enticing shape. His breath was deep and heavy, completely aroused at the demon’s delicate and well-placed kisses. Aziraphale sang utterances of pleasure, soft and wanting, observing the demon’s devotions with hungry, watchful eyes. He wanted the moment to stretch into perpetuity, to relish in it, never before seeing the demon so vulnerable, so attentive. It bloomed desire in its own right, hearts melding as one at his honeyed words.

Goosebumps dotted themselves along the angel’s skin in the wake of the demon’s mouth, chilled and expectant, and the angel let out a trembling breath. He felt the warmth rise- butterflies in his chest- as the demon spoke words laced with reverent affection, unhindered, as if for the first time in six thousand years. The angel’s heart was twisted into an ache of its own, though not unpleasantly so, almost as if Crowley were trailing his lips and fingers along the muscle itself bewitchingly. 

“Oh… Crowley” whispered the sweet angel, not unlike a lover’s sigh, his eyes glistening with love’s ardor. Aziraphale shivered as Crowley’s mouth attended to the softness of his belly. It was a gentle, pleasurable tickle that fueled his passions, and the angel’s grip on Crowley’s thigh slightly tightened. When their eyes met, Aziraphale let out a soft exhale, the demon’s beauty stealing his breath and heartbeat in all of its otherworldly glory. Aziraphale shivered, hairs standing on ends, as the hands trailed up his body on either side. His eyes searched the other’s, imploring, silently screaming enraptured veneration, pleading for there to be no end to the bliss.

It didn't take Crowley more than half a second to interpret the desire that swirled behind those endless blue eyes, nor to identify that plea, and the demon was more than happy to oblige. Though his reservations were already absolved, nothing about his pace quickened. He lingered there a few moments longer, in fact - delicately kissing, sucking tame red marks along his abdomen. They were unlikely to last long, borne of sensation rather than possession, and soon the angel's front was rife with them, flowering across his belly, his ribs, his collarbone.

The demon's body had unfolded at a crawl, creeping back upward along the length of Aziraphale's. His weight shifted when he reached the curve of his neck, long limbs rearranging themselves - one leg draped almost lazily across Aziraphale's, a hand flat to a hipbone. Crowley was curled alongside him now, having arrived there with a seemingly boneless litheness, lips working a heated trail to his ear.

"If I could, I'd hang new stars for you," a quiet murmur when his lips finally brushed it, lingering. Crowley was so closely curled to him it felt as if he might be trying to draw him inward, pull him right into the empty spaces between his ribs where - somewhere - old light still shone through.

The hand on Aziraphale's abdomen moved in aimless circles, though the pressure had increased substantially as it inched its way toward a hipbone, further down. The fabric wrapped around the angel was all but useless now, tangled with the bedding around them, open. Crowley paid it little mind. His focus was on the warmth beneath his palm, his scent, his voice, the soft strands of white that brushed his own forehead at this proximity and the goosebumps he could see on Aziraphale's skin.

"Raise new mountains for you," his hand delved further down. Hidden beneath the blankets, but Crowley wasn't looking anyway. It wasn't for him. Lithe fingers coiled their way along the seam where inner thigh met hip, back up again. Avoiding any substantial touch, but not for want of teasing him - just of prolonging _this._

His teeth closed on Aziraphale's earlobe and it was met with a warm swipe of his tongue, followed by the ghost of his breath - "I'd build you a garden to rival Eden." His hand was still wandering, _feeling,_ familiarizing himself with parts of Aziraphale he'd only ever been able to imagine and committing them fully to memory: the curves of his hips, the softness of his thighs, ignoring the heat between them.

Crowley lifted his free hand, using it to guide Aziraphale's face toward his own, and met his eyes with a heady gaze that bordered on rapt. "Still wouldn't be enough," it was a breath across his lips, stolen back by the kiss that followed, by no means chaste but not lewd either, an outpouring of devotion unto itself.

The angel let the demon’s mouth melt blotches onto his pale skin, his head thrown back in blissful pleasure. His fingers found their way into Crowley’s hair, tugging lightly, and his hips began to gently move with expectation.

Electricity danced through his skin as the demon’s hot breath tickled his neck. Each whisper provoked a deep breath, Aziraphale’s chest heaving with aching desire. When Crowley’s hands began exploring the angel’s soft thighs, they were accompanied by the angel’s groans of unbearable want.

Aziraphale was in his own version of Heaven. It wasn’t the cold, pure space crafted by the icy ethereals. It was here- in messy kisses, and sloppy tongues, and confessions of love. It was here in his beating heart, his quickened breath- here, in Crowley. The angel let it envelop him in its gentle embrace; Crowley its perfect vessel. He let any lingering reservations melt away, and immersed himself in the sensations which threatened to overwhelm him. 

Each caress was more pleasurable than the last, and left him wanting, aching, _needing_. He was crazed with it, body rocking slightly of its own volition. The unhurried sensuality bloomed around them, insulated them from the world, melted everything away until it was just the two of them, just this moment.

A soft moan of pleasure escaped when their lips finally met. It was throaty, and untamed, and ethereal- a pleasure not meant for mortal ears. It was the first time this sound had ever escaped Aziraphale’s lips- not just on Earth. Ever. It was a mix of Divinity and lust, love and vulnerability. 

His wings unfurled, loud against the demon’s muted whispers, and loosened feathers dazzled themselves across the room. The angel poured his soul into his lips, allowing himself to love the demon uninhibited. Together they were truly exposed and, for the first time, free. 

The kisses were deep and slow, and all-consuming, as if they were the beginning and the end all at once. The angel’s wings covered them in a backdrop of pure, crisp white, as they clung to each other, the air heavy with passionate, devoted worship. Aziraphale never wanted to let go again, wanted to live in this moment for eternity, each kiss a prolonged and savored prayer.

Crowley's form shuddered at the sound of that moan, as if it were something physical - velvet over skin-warmed notes of steel that hooked straight into his spirit. For a moment his brow furrowed - a faint groan of his own lost between their lips, practically awestruck.

As Aziraphale's wings unfurled around them, the demon slit his eyes to watch; where normally he might immediately start scanning for grey blemishes, Crowley simply took in the sight of them. One hand reached out without thought, and the demon watched as the fingers vanished beneath pure white feathers, spidering gently between them. He'd never touched Aziraphale's wings - never touched _anyone's_ wings, and the realization that he was washed over him in a tangible shiver of fulfillment.

It nearly overwhelmed him; the fact this was Aziraphale, his angel, here in his arms, that he was touching him at all when he'd thought, at his lowest, he'd never so much as see him again. The formula would never be complete: I and you and the two facts constellating. He could feel his own wings aching to expand, and just barely managed to withhold them.

Crowley's head angled down, idly straining against the hand in his hair as he felt the angel's hips rolling beneath his touch, and finally the demon's hand found its mark. There was no pretense - no feather-light touch, just the demon's fingers coiled snugly around Aziraphale's cock, thumb circling firmly across the head.

"Aziraphale," he breathed against him, exuding warmth - real warmth, unguarded, concerned with nothing in the universe beyond the angel against him. Even his name felt sacred on his tongue, and he allowed it to stand alone, a heated invocation into the space beneath his jaw promptly followed by a sucking kiss. His eyes were open now, desperately fixated on Azirpahale's face, eager to drink in the sight of his pleasure.

Aziraphale shivered as the demon’s hands graced his wings, and ruffled his feathers. It was a first, a new type of vulnerability, and it felt forbidden- a dark, delicious secret- one reserved for Crowley’s knowledge and touch alone. The sensation was overwhelming, almost painful, against the sensitive skin of his wings. It elicited a guttural, ecstatic moan, and a reddened flush quickly appeared on the angel’s blissful visage. 

The reddened cheeks contrasted sharply with his creamy skin, pale blonde locks, and his bright, glittering cerulean eyes. His gaze was a language all its own, expressing what his words couldn’t- the pure adoration, the trust, the pleasure and lust. The angel was nearly panting now, overcome with emotion and luxurious eager excitement.

The angel’s groans of pleasure continued, as the demon began teasing the head of his cock with expert, indulgent hands. His lips sought the other’s, hungrily, a desperate longing clawing itself through the angel’s soul. Despite his fervor and ache, the movements were slow, deliberate, dripping with sensual love and reverence; but there was now a daring forcefulness, as his hips rocked back and forth in their enthusiasm.

His face was colored with euphoric rapture, eyes delivering his soul for the demon’s own pleasure. The angel’s nails of one hand dug themselves in the demon’s forearm, eagerly encouraging his movements. His other hand cupped the demon’s cheek, gentle in comparison, begging for more, for Crowley’s lips and tongue, begging for his love. 

“_Crowley_” he breathed, as if it were a prayer, a worship of the demon’s very being; or perhaps, as if it were a summoning, begging the demon for his possession.

Crowley couldn't look away. Even as his lips crushed to Aziraphale's his eyes remained slitted, unable to look upon anything but the angel's countenance.

His hand stayed buried in soft white, fingers flexing, roaming gingerly through the feathers - impossibly soft. He was careful not to use too much pressure - this in particular was overly gentle, overly reverent.

"I could listen to that for eternity," his tone was still tender - bore an unusual softness, though there was a hint of something else there now - something slightly more guttural, the faintest note of gravel deep in his throat. As the words left him, he began to stroke the angel languidly. He paused on occasion, replacing the firm contact with ghosting fingers, barely-there, only to grasp him again with more fervor - as if every movement were carefully considered and forged with Aziraphale in mind, to drag the pleasure out of him bit by sensuous bit.

At some point, the demon's leg had begun to withdraw from across Aziraphale's. His weight shifted lower - the hand formerly tangled into the angel's feathers trailing them in a single smooth stroke until it came to rest at his shoulder, gripping firmly. "I'd like to hear it again," he spoke between soft bites - purposely targeting the same, fading marks with which he'd branded him moments prior.

He used one knee to gently nudge the angel's thighs apart, his weight settling to the mattress between them as his lips sought out their previous path. Before long, Crowley was picking up right where he left off - this time nestled between Aziraphale's legs. 

"And again," his lips brushed the hollow of Aziraphale's thigh, and the demon flattened his hand over the angel's arousal, thumb still rocking idly - inconsistently - beneath the head. Gold eyes warm, deliberate, watched blue ones from beneath heavy lids as Crowley drew his tongue messily across his own fingers, dragging a heated stripe up the length of the other's cock. It was messy, graceless, and the demon was entirely absorbed, silently willing his name from his Aziraphale's lips.

Aziraphale’s body arched beneath him, as the passion overtook him, as it drowned him in the throes of the demon’s sensual torment. His fingers kneaded into the locks of fiery hair, pulling unwillingly out of zealous lust. Obsessive desperation clawed itself into his soul as if overshadowing his very essence. “_Crowley_” he responded as bidden, voice broken and wild, willing to do anything for the demon’s pleasurable gifts, freewill crumbling at the promises of his mercy. 

The silence of the bedroom was littered with whispering whimpers and throaty moans. The angel was panting with throbbing, aching want, mad in ecstasy, hands wandering to wherever they could bury themselves- his nails dragging across the demon’s back and shoulders, his forearms, anywhere, everywhere. 

Aziraphale maintained a steady gaze, broken only by moments of euphoric bliss, as his head was thrown back in torturous pleasure. He watched the demon’s tongue sloppily consume him with bestial, ravenous eyes, his lips parted in hoarse rasps of enjoyment. “_Crowley_” he gasped, as if commanded to do so. His body trembled with the electrifying sensation of the demon’s hot, exploring mouth. 

“Please,” he begged, “Oh, _Crowley…_ oh, please… _Crowley..._” his plea was like a mantra, whispering the demon’s name in devoted worship. His hips reflexively curved forward, desperate for more, cock quivering in anticipation. “_Please…_”

"Louder," Crowley commanded without so much as a half-second of hesitation, though it was less a firm order as it was a breathy drawl, the warmth clouding oversensitive skin. Hearing his name on the angel's lips, the desperate plea it was as it bled into the quiet of the room, sent a pleasant shiver running down his spine - one which evolved into a groan when he registered the sensation of Aziraphale's fingers tugging at his hair.

The demon's eyes flickered closed, and he set a sloppy kiss to the side of his length, cupping it in his hand as he proceeded to repeat the action - once - twice - lingering a little longer each time as he progressed toward the tip. One final kiss replaced his thumb - tongue worrying at the spot instead for a moment, and then Crowley took him between parted lips, loosing a quiet purr around his cock as it sank into the warmth of his mouth.

It was an arduously slow process, and the demon's tongue writhed lewdly against him all the while; it curled against him just a little _too_ perfectly, all-encompassing and liquid. Everything about it was shameless - the outright eagerness, the pointed groans, the way his own hips snaked faintly within the confines of torturously tight jeans. He was sensitive enough already that the fabric edged the line of discomfort - just how he liked it.

Both of his hands came to rest at Aziraphale's thighs, and he braced them against the lines of his hips, fingers kneading in gently with the occasional, soft bite of nails. His legs shifted forward, nudging themselves under the angel's, beneath his knees, coaxing them further apart.

Using the grip on his thighs, Crowley intently drew the other's hips toward his own mouth - a shock of yellow-gold, permissive, catching Aziraphale's gaze. _Anything you want, angel._ He didn't have to say it. They'd both known for as long as he could remember.

The angel all but shouted the demon’s name at his command- his mind thoroughly addled in a stupor of festering, infectious desire. He was powerless against it and so fell into it, crushed under its weight, willing to do anything for relief. 

Aziraphale beat his wings against the bed in his madness, the ache painful and somehow worsening with every tantalizing provocation of Crowley’s artful mouth. The angel’s body curled beneath him, and he cried out in delirious pleasure as the demon’s mouth enveloped him in his entirety. 

The angel’s moans of pleasure quickly devolved into little more than hoarse grunts as he clawed at the demon in fervid ecstatic torment. His head was thrown back in hedonistic indulgence, his brows furrowed, lips parted to utter his satisfactions, to cry the demon’s name in obedient rapture. 

Before long, Aziraphale felt a warmth begin to coil in the pit of his stomach. The fire kindled with each reverberating purr within the demon’s throat, with each sloppy suckling of his length, the rocking of the angel’s hips which pushed himself further into the demon’s welcoming mouth. 

He didn’t want it to end- it couldn’t- the painful build up of unreleased pressure was less of a punishment. He felt he couldn’t exist without _this_\- the demon’s eyes hungrily watching his enjoyment, the lips and tongue sucking his cock as if they existed for that purpose alone, the overwhelming sensations curling themselves hotly in his loins. 

Still, he wanted more, he wanted it_ all_. He couldn’t exist without it; he _needed_ it- _needed_ Crowley inside of him, _needed_ to share the pleasure between the two, as if there was too much of it for him to experience alone.

Aziraphale had no ability to speak with pleasantries. He growled at his companion, voice gruff and pained with need, “_Fuck me_” he begged, “_Fuck me- I need you_”. He met the demon’s eyes to the best of his ability, barely able to do more than passively indulge in the Heaven of Crowley’s skillful lips, “_Please, love, please_”. A groan loosened itself from his throat, guttural and raw, a testament to his hysterical bliss.

The electricity coursed around them, tangible in the space, and Azirphale's voice, his plea ground it in a single white-hot jolt down Crowley's spine, earning a full-bodied shudder. The room, the world around them felt vacuous, seemed to fade from the corners of his vision because it didn't matter - none of it mattered, his universe was there beneath him, panting his name like a prayer and burning brighter than the fucking sun.

One of the demon's hands strayed from its place at Aziraphale's hip, slunk between his own thighs. He unfastened his jeans so slowly he may as well have been counting the teeth on the zipper. His own desire had gone ignored up to this point, and Crowley was still more focused on Aziraphale - his mouth around him and tongue impossibly hot in its ceaseless assault, the messy, suckled kisses and throaty groans - so much so that when his hand finally slid beneath the coarse material to stroke himself his hips nearly jutted forward.

Crowley didn't stop immediately at the other's demand - in fact, it seemed to lend to his enjoyment, and the demon continued in his attempts to work him closer to that edge, always lessening his intensity at the last second, withdrawing for a trembling kiss or softer swipe of tongue, keeping Aziraphale suspended in the moment with him. He shoved his jeans down - took his time removing them entirely, kicking them aside before the same hand lifted to unfasted what few buttons remained on his shirt, equally slow.

Much like Aziraphale preferred food crafted with love, Crowley preferred to take his time, allowing the moment to steep in the warmth of progressively dizzying pleasure.

The scratches, the bruises, were still visible. Crowley didn't care. The thought didn't even pass through his brain - he was too busy fumbling aside with one hand, blindly searching the drawer of the night table for the small bottle of lubricant, a cold smattering of the viscous fluid dripping messily against Aziraphale's skin.

The demon canted his head upward, mouth parting from him with a wet sound, a slow circle of tongue, and two fingers smeared through the glistening substance as it dripped along the angel's inner thigh, trailed a chilled path inward, where they began to circle his entrance. It was as much to tease as it was to warn him of what was to come, and Crowley waited to push them inward, doing so slowly as he began to inch back up Aziraphale's form. His fingers flexed - crooked - began to move within him at a tantalizing pace as the demon loomed over him, back arched, head cocked to drag lips along his jaw.

"Up," he urged him, his free arm slinking around the angel's waist - low enough to avoid the stinging scar between his shoulder blades, not wanting any tainted memories to impact the moment, the gravity weighing so heavily between them. He lifted Aziraphale easily - drew him against his own form, practically into his lap, supporting their combined weight on spread knees. All the while he littered his neck in ardent kisses, imbued with the depth of his own passion, ceaseless. His fingers withdrew once he'd had time to bask in the reaction, the mewls, the twitches and sighs, and Crowley's hips angled upward in an aimless undulation which tore a shuddering breath from the depths of his chest.

The angel's demand had made him painfully aware of his own desire, blunt and unyielding. It hammered at his last vestiges of poise, and as his hips ground up to meet him - his own arousal grazing the soft skin of Aziraphale's thigh - they shattered entirely. Biting down at the crook of the other's shoulder, as if it might help quiet himself, Crowley continued to wind against him, obscene, cock already slick with its own need but a hand dropped between them to further prepare it by way of a few lazy strokes, another dribble of cold lubricant that sent a tangible shiver through his thin frame. He used the same hand to guide himself into place, breath heavy on his skin, and pushed into him.

"Aziraphale," Crowley groaned coarsely, forgetting himself, a sharp hiss cleaving the 'z' in his name into something more desperate, more _his own_. His hips moved of their own volition, slow, savoring, as if they knew as well as he there was no way he'd last more than a few minutes, equally unwilling to let it end.

Aziraphale’s hips rocked, pushing himself further towards the edge, greedily using the demon’s mouth as if it were made for his pleasure and his alone. It was maddening; the delirious bliss rippled its way into every inch of his body, digging itself into the recesses of his soul. He felt his muscles trembling and tensing, threatening to betray his control, begging to convulse with gratifying salvation. 

His hands clawed the demon, the bed sheets, himself. He was only half conscious of what or who his nails gripped, not feeling the pinch of them as they dug into his own chest, not feeling the beads of red pooling onto his dampened pale skin. His mind was unhinged, vanquished by Crowley’s tongue lapping at his sex with unhurried, commanding strokes. He was deranged, overcome by the demon’s imperious will, unable to tolerate such thorough attentive pleasure. 

His grunts were labored, pained, as if the pleasure itself was injurious. Every moment that stretched between them was an eternity unto itself. It was all Aziraphale could do to contain the pressure which built so steadily, threatening to erupt with the slightest jolt of unexpected delight.

The cool sting of lubricant, the warm fingers sliding into him, the demon inching his way up his body- he shuddered in the sensations. They were overwhelming, threatening his composure which was slowly crumbling away, unable to withstand the assault of intimate satisfaction. Closer now, hardly contained, his visage was strained with the excitement, the bliss, the pain of blunting his desperate release.

He felt the demon lift his body, cradling it into his lap expectantly, felt the teeth biting into his shoulder, heard the cry of bliss muffle itself into his skin. Aziraphale cried out in ecstasy, the demon’s cock filling him with hard, hot torturous deliverance. He felt his body grind up and down Crowley’s length, savoring the fullness and pressure, begging for release. 

His eyes rolled back in rapture; sweat beading down his neck and chest, lazily mixing with droplets of dark red blood. It was everything he wanted it to be, needed it to be, their moans and sloppy kisses pushing him further to the brink of no return. 

Crowley’s sighs of enjoyment shivered through his skin. His wings spread themselves wide, stretched taught, as if fighting to tear his body into pieces. He heard his voice crying out the demon’s name again and again- it was a prayer, a mantra, a plea.

“_Crowley_— ah, I’m going to…” Aziraphale’s breaths were ragged, his chest heaved onerously. 

“I’m… I’m…” his moans were rasp with ecstasy, unable to contain the pleasure boring into him, feeling it slip out of his control. “Ahh—!” his cry echoed against the walls, ethereal and divine, ripped from his throat at last. 

The angel’s hips lurched, discordant, his seed spilling hot against Crowley’s stomach, dripping down their thighs. Aziraphale’s head lulled back, the pleasure immortalized in his countenance, as his body shook with arduous spasm.

Aziraphale's nails pierced the heady veil of lust, magnified it tenfold. Crowley was blissfully lost - awash in sensation, blindly peppering sweat-slicked skin with lascivious kisses, bites which barely managed not to draw blood.

Soon enough, he sought out his lips again - a fervent kiss to house the continual low sounds, utterances of his name. He stayed close - shared breath, forehead set against Aziraphale - form quivering slightly with exertion between supporting their weight, trying to manage the escalating pleasure which was already nearly too much to bear.

His eyes were open - voraciously consuming every detail, the soft curve of Aziraphale's lips around his name, the slight furrow of his brow, the way the angel's form shuddered and writhed against him, the beads of sweat clinging to his skin. He couldn't see him the last time - this time he couldn't look away. Nothing could've claimed his attention so thoroughly; no-one could've earned such pointed affection, devotion, such _love_. Only Aziraphale. It would only ever be Aziraphale.

He registered the broad expanse of wings and his own ached, thrashed beneath his skin and for a moment he felt a pang of panic - Gabriel had healed him but he hadn't looked to see the state of them, hadn't taken the time to note whether or not they looked anything like they should. The pain had been so terrible, he was barely sure he'd stopped feeling it.

Aziraphale said his name and the thought fled his mind.

He fucked him harder - still slow, still pointed in every movement but it was clear the tapestry of his restraint was unravelling. Every nerve in his body tingled, sparked, wrought by the sensation of Aziraphale around him, the knowledge that he could drive him to such rapture. The latter notion was confirmed as those words were lost between them, and Crowley immediately slunk close, a hand darting out to twist amongst soft feathers as he hissed lowly into his ear.

"Show me, angel. Come for me," it was a wonder he could form sentences at all at this point, the words barely sounding his own, as if they bled unknowingly from his subconscious, a thread of possessiveness that wanted to covet every aspect of the angel's ecstasy. He felt Aziraphale tighten around him and drove into him harder - pulling back slightly to take in the sight, more pleasing to him than any other -

Crowley didn't notice when black feathers intermingled with white in the air around them, barely registered the violent sound of his wings and their sudden presence in the room as he finally lost that last shred of control, the last thread unwinding and coiling in the pit of his gut, outward around every nerve, every muscle, every reddened inch of skin, _tightening_ \- 

He felt Aziraphale's release, watched his eyes, his mouth, lips molding soft around the shape of every syllable that left them. The slightest noise from Aziraphale now made his ears ring, sent prickling heat through his entire body, to the tips of his wings which hung slack behind him, like they'd never properly booted up -

The demon surged forward to claim his lips, kissing him like he wanted to devour him whole, driving into him with a few more curt thrusts before his hips shuddered to a gradual halt, buried deep within him and trailing him right over that precipitous edge, the kiss broken on a hissed gasp of his name.

Crowley clung to him, chest heaving, and his head dropped to rest against Aziraphale's shoulder, hips still twitching involuntarily but he wasn't willing to break the contact yet, wasn't ready to pull away, to leave the garden they'd built.


	2. What Happens After Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 28 of "The Really Big One"

The door shut, latched, quietly behind them. Crowley stalked the angel inward, thoroughly pleased to feel the heat radiating through the cabin. Enough so that he was already slipping out of his jacket, which he flung thoughtlessly onto the sofa. He was behind Aziraphale - watching as the angel registered the warmth too, seemed to sink into it.

The demon's lips met the back of Aziraphale's neck in the same instant his arms wrapped around his waist. The fingers of one hand were already nestled between the buttons of his shirt, the other smoothing in meandering trails along his abdomen. "Now," he murmured against his skin, voice wrapped in familiar dark velvet, the edges frayed with impatience, "I heard from a reliable source that when you want something, you're meant to ask very nicely," his breath warmed the skin as he spoke, starting at the top of his spine and following a trail of heated nips and kisses, sharper, more insistent than usual.

"Is there anything you want, angel?"

His composure waned by the second, dizzied by the assault of affection, by the hands crawling their way around his curves, by the breath hot on his neck. Already the dusting of pink blush found its home on his rounded cheeks, nearly permanent in the presence of his demon.

“I want,” the angel began, his mind tearing itself asunder with thoughts of Crowley doing all manner of ungodly things, “something that no one else can have.” He turned his head, kissing the demon’s neck with greedy lips, sucking a red bruise into the skin. His hands clasped the other’s, giving them a gentle squeeze before moving on.

“I want something no one else has had”. Aziraphale turned his body to face his companion, one hand cupping his cheek tenderly, the other seizing the back of his thigh tightly. He nipped at the demon’s earlobe, his whisper laced with the same seductive, low purr. “Please”.

"Don't be stupid, angel," The demon could think of a great number of things he hadn't experienced with his angel - it was really just a matter of time. Crowley's hand traced the curve of his spine, followed it all the way into his hair. He gripped the strands tightly - tighter than he ever had, yet - and tugged Aziraphale's head back, the arm around his waist constricting. "You've already got all that." He took a step forward, forcing the angel along. "How much do you think I bothered giving to other people?"

Another step - one more, and then Crowley was shoving him firmly into the wall. The hand still wound in his hair gripped tighter, tugged his head aside as lips sought his pulse. "How much do you think I wouldn't give to you, eventually?" Two distinct points of warmth met his skin as Crowley licked a warm stripe up to his ear - his tongue flicked against the lobe, coiled over it, an entirely new sensation bred of the interesting new cosmetic revelation he'd yet to hide again.

With Aziraphale's body pinned to the wall by way of his own, the arm around him relented, withdrew and lifted between them. He began to unbutton Aziraphale's shirt. "I don't remember telling you to turn around," he contemplated aloud, and his tongue traced the shell of his ear as he seemed to consider it. "Unless you've got a better answer than that," though Crowley already had plenty of ideas, "you're not going to do anything I don't tell you to. Do you understand, angel?" the hold on his hair slackened - only to tighten abruptly again, before he'd the chance to answer. The glasses had gone from his face with the statement, and he was looking intently into the other's eyes, his own burning with a sinister sort of intensity, of want.

A moan erupted from the angel’s lips, unbidden, as the demon pulled his hair, controlling him with the motion. His eyes widened in surprise at his companion’s aggression; they also glittered with its sinister enjoyment. He’d only experienced the demon’s gentle nature, knowing he kept his violence tucked away, hidden in shame from the angel’s view. But Aziraphale liked it. Craved it. He bit his own lower lip, teeth marking the skin, though not breaking through- a gesture of reprieve as he was overcome by his lover’s charge. Crowley’s words were barely registering as he found himself swept along, felt the wall to his back, delighting in the dark love he commanded.

His breath was loud, wanting, the demon hovering over his pulse which beat with renewed vigor. Aziraphale’s lips parted with a sharp inhale, as the demon’s forked tongue teased a quiver along his skin. It was already maddening; the arousal instantaneous.

The angel was stunned into silence, blue eyes emboldened, eagerly begging for more. He watched as the demon’s thin fingers undid his shirt buttons, chest heaving with excitement, inundated by Crowley’s power. Aziraphale truly felt like prey, as if he were willingly entering the den of a dangerous predator- one intent on consuming him whole. He stared into the Serpent’s eyes, not daring to utter a single word. The corner of his mouth twitched into a half-smile, as his visage matched the demon’s intensity and desire.

"I asked you a question," Crowley drawled, continuing to unbutton the angel's shirt. It lacked the sensuality of their last encounter. Rather, it bore an entirely different brand - one grounded in the same wicked insistence that Aziraphale leave some of his scratches, in the dark bruise on the angel's shoulder in the shape of Crowley's teeth. He wasted no time removing the angel's shirt, pushing the fabric open to either side before he stepped back, creating only the slightest distance between them.

His eyes, still locked on Aziraphale's, flickered briefly to his shirt. "Take that off and turn around," he demanded, beginning to unfasten the buttons near his own collar - slower while he knew Aziraphale was watching. He wanted the sight he'd be missing to linger. He reached over one of the angel's shoulders, setting his hand flat to the wall behind him, and turned his head just enough to regard him from the corners of his eyes. "Hands like this," he drummed his fingers once, as if to demonstrate - his own palm flat to the wall as the other unfastened yet another button.

It seemed something of a natural state for Crowley - he'd fallen into it easily, allowed the sinful thoughts to flood him, to taint every gruff demand and touch, and for once he didn't care. He wanted to experience Aziraphale all over again - his - to reinforce the notion. He was eager with an entirely different set of desires, some he thought might never find their way to the forefront of his mind again.

“I understand.” the angel said, voice firm and laced with defiance. The demon’s hands were rough, impatient, flicking his shirt buttons carelessly, which only threatened to arouse the angel further. He slipped his shirt off slowly- almost painfully so- as he took in the sight of Crowley undressing. It was a delay, deliberately prolonging the sight of his lover- his lithe, slender frame, feral with authoritative lust… this was a view he wanted to see every night, for the rest of his life.

His eyebrow rose, watching the demon demonstrate his desires, heard the hollow tap of fingers against the wall. He blinked slowly, stretching the moment. Briefly Aziraphale wondered what the penalty would be if he defied his master’s command. He decided he wasn’t ready to find out… at least, not quite yet. All in good time.

He leisurely turned himself around. It was a slow, gradual process- testing the boundaries of these orders, exploring the punishments any failure would bring- and placed his hands on the wall as the demon demanded. He canted his head slightly, to look at Crowley behind him, expectation shimmering in his bright blue eyes.

"It doesn't sound like you do. Doesn't look like you do," he sneered, voice edged by a low growl that didn't quite dominate the tone - not yet. A hand darted up to coil into the hair at the crown of Aziraphale's head, and he used the hold to force his face back toward the wall.

For a moment, there was stillness - Crowley's hand firm in his hair, holding his head toward the wall, and little else. Then, a low purr beside his ear. "Eyes forward, angel." The demon hooked his fingers into the waist of Aziraphale's pants and gave a sharp tug outward, urging his lower half further from the wall. In the same moment, that hand pressed his head forward - forcing him to bend.

"If you want to take your time when I tell you to do something," the fingers still hooked in his waistband began to trail it forward, then withdrew. Without warning, Crowley palmed over the front of Aziraphale's pants - rocking the heel of his palm idly between his thighs. "I'll take my time, too. In fact, I'll take twice as much," at some point, the demon had stepped forward, his own narrow hips bracing Aziraphale's. Still clothed, from the sound of coarse denim in the otherwise quiet room.

At this angle, Crowley was confronted with the scar between Aziraphale's shoulderblades. It still looked raw, still looked as if it needed something more than he might be able to give. He made a mental note to try, regardless - but not now. Not now because even with the scar the sight before him was still so beautiful, soft curves of pale skin that practically quaked beneath his touch, the slow rise and fall of his breath, when it deepened, when it caught.

"D'you know any good poems, angel?"

The angel allowed himself to be forced into position, every act of aggression tempting him further, urging his sensation of longing until his senses screamed with it. Crowley’s casual, cruel voice; the rough hands bending the angel to his will; the tantalizing, excruciating threats- Aziraphale was lost in them, lost in it all, overcome with the lust that only Crowley could inspire.

A whimper escaped his throat as the demon grazed the front of his pants, hips rocking slightly in tandem with his hand- unwillingly. Aziraphale was already sensitive with want, the ache building in intensity with each passing moment. Prolonging the inevitable pleasure enticed him as much as it haunted him. He relished the demon’s body pressed so close, though he didn’t react to it, not wanting it to be pulled away.

“I do know some good poems, yes.” The angel stated it breathily, but also plainly, quickly. He volunteered no further information- and would not speak more, until he was commanded. Aziraphale could learn to follow the rules; especially with the unspoken promises of reward that were sure to follow. He kept his gaze down obediently, awaiting instruction.

"Why don't you recite one for me," Crowley nosed at the back of an ear, tone too-gentle in a pointed contrast to the lewd roll of his hips that followed. He rocked into Aziraphale, slow, grinding against him and in turn driving the other's hips forward, against his waiting hand. Another, at the same pace, though this one earned a low groan of satisfaction, loosed against the angel's ear.

"If you pick one I like - and manage to get through it - I might start to think about getting rid of the clothing. It would feel better - wouldn't it?" as if to emphasize the query, the demon rocked into him again, made a point of dragging two knuckles over his confined arousal, through the fabric. "And if you can't do it," his teeth caught Aziraphale's ear, a quiet hiss of pleasure settling over the words following the bite, "I'll just make sure you can't do anything else but watch."

It sounded like a bit of a win-win situation. Crowley didn't mind; either option would eventually lead to the same end - just different paths to get there. The only thing he was presently concerned with was the slight movements of Aziraphale's hips against his own, the way that response left him so immediately without flourish or hesitation - an earnest effort to please. The demon rewarded him with a heated kiss to his shoulder, set - quite purposefully - just beside the previous bruise.

Slowly, Crowley's nails carved a path over Aziraphale's scalp, crept their way down his nape, not pressing hard enough to draw blood but certainly hard enough to leave white welts in their wake. "'m waiting."

Aziraphale did his best to contain the whimpers building in his throat, though he was only mildly successful. His chest heaved with laborious breaths, as if the air around him wasn’t enough to quench the fire blazing in his lungs. His face was flushed with a satisfying ache, thoroughly disturbed by the possibility of being denied his release. It was enough to docile his defiance, and he fell eagerly into subservience. “Yes, Master Crowley, of course. It would be my-ah… my pleasure.”

He began with a trembling voice, blunting the painful prurience of the demon rubbing him over the cloth of his pants, ignoring the heat and hunger to the best of his ability. “What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why; I have forgotten…”

With each line, his effort became more tormented, taking longer to remember the words, containing his gasps a more painstaking task. “.. and what arms have lain; Under my head ‘til morning..”

His voice was hoarse, tense with ache, and he spoke between pants, his hips rocking steadily, “..but the rain is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh, upon the glass and listen for reply…” His efforts continued, broken only by the occasional quiet utterance of pleasure, or shaking breath, wishing nothing more than to please, and in return, be pleased.

As the poem neared its end, the angel found courage, the words finding themselves more easily spoken. “.. I cannot say what loves have come and gone; I only know that summer sang in me a little while; that in me sings no more..”

When the poem was complete, Aziraphale knew only silence. It had been only a few minutes, but they’d stretched into eternity, the demon rubbing his sex a vexing distraction, one that fueled his need for satiation.

Crowley did everything in his power to distract Aziraphale, though he hung on every word. He was distinctly aware of every shuddering breath that staggered his angel's speech, paid particular mind to each action that made him lose his train of thought and made sure to repeat them again - and again, and again.

His lips were ever-present, roaming Aziraphale's neck, his upper back, Crowley's weight a solid line of heat curled against him. The cool brush of his necklace grazed the skin between his shoulder blades, just beneath the scar, and the demon's lips followed it - caressing even the marred skin with parted lips that lessened the marks for all the energy he poured into them, a warm tingle across his flesh, soothing and born of love amidst the carnality of peppered bites and kisses.

He ground into him in earnest, lewd and unyielding, as if all that mattered to him in the moment was the ache between his own legs as he dragged Aziraphale's hips harder against his own, a lustful mockery of things to come if the angel pleased him. His hand was unrelenting, nails occasionally grazing the material beneath them in more teasing strokes only to grant him firm reprieve whenever he spoke a line particularly well. When the poem concluded, Crowley wordlessly lifted the hand, shoving it unceremoniously beneath the waist of Aziraphale's pants, the band of his underwear, fingers immediately finding and coiling tightly around his length.

The movements didn't stop, but now the demon was pushing Aziraphale into his grasp, skin-to-skin, all heat and spidering fingers. "That was lovely," the only celestial harmony he'd ever abide,

the soft shuddering lilt of his angel's voice - "but not quite enough. You'll give me another, won't you?" The nails of the opposite hand raked sharply across his ribcage, red prickling the skin in their wake. He sought out a nipple, rolled it lazily between thumb and forefinger. "I'm not through listening to you, yet." His tone maintained its casually assertive air, not yet overcome, though the desire was there in hairline fractures through which the edge of a growl crept in.

The angel gasped, the demon’s hands working against him in his attempts to remain unencumbered by the lewd sins, tempting him to fall into their grasps. Their grips tightened in tandem- lust and demon alike- until it was all Aziraphale could focus on, all his mind could imagine, all that could possibly exist. Still, the determination to please weighed heavy in his soul, and he continued, voice strained with painful, blunted pleasure.

“Mn- yes-” he choked, uncertain in his own meaning- perhaps the commands, or perhaps the hand working along his member, now swollen with wanton longing. “-another…” His body shuddered as the demon’s nails raked along his skin, leaving red welts in their wake, burning hotly- grounding him, evoking what little willpower he could muster.

Again, he began, tremulous, and voice wavering. The warm room and warmer body pressed against him, bringing forth beads of sweat, which ran down his chest. “Whoever you are holding me now in hand, Without one thing all will be useless..”

“..The way is suspicious, the result uncertain, perhaps destructive; You would have to give up all else…” his throaty moans were only half restrained, tearing themselves from his throat at their leisure, when the hips boring into him were nearly too much to bear. The angel’s breathing was ragged, a strenuous affair, struggling to keep pace with the sensations which threatened to consume him.

“..Here to put your lips on mine I permit you…” Aziraphale’s hips jolted forward, marring their rhythm, as the demon’s hand grazed along his head just right; and oh, it was so right, wasn’t it?

“..Or, if you will, thrusting me beneath your clothing; Where I may feel the throbs of your heart or rest upon your hip…”

The angel was more breath than words now, face reddened in his efforts, very nearly broken, willing to do anything at all, anything worth doing- craving any pleasure the demon acquiesced, fully at his mercy. “Therefore release me, and depart on your way…”

His voice stilled, yet the soft murmurs of torment continued, his body grinding against Crowley’s reflexively in desperation. The pain and servitude and desire were painted on his face, colored in his cheeks and flesh, rumbled as one in his desponded pleas.

Crowley's fingers, which had been lazily teasing the hardened rise of skin for a moment or two already, pinched together in a firm tug the first time Aziraphale hesitated. The second mistake, a slight stammer, was met with a cruel twist, the sharp sensation of nails grazing flesh in the aftermath, feather-light to follow the lingering sting.

His thumb smeared messily across the head of his cock, angling sideways to rock itself against the sensitive slit, reveling in the slickness of it as Aziraphale's hips jolted. His own stuttered and came to a halt against him, the pleasure twisting too exquisitely in his gut, threatening to overcome him and he wasn't ready. Not yet. There was still so much to take.

The sound of a sharp slap rang out in the silence of the room, punctuated the breathless moans and sighs - Crowley's fingers splayed over the angel's ribs, emanating heat in the aftermath of an open-palmed strike - it wasn't hard enough to bruise, but it did leave a mark, the ghost of spread fingers and the heel of his hand spreading an electric sting across his skin. Barely granting time for the pain to subside, his nails drug inward, toward the center of the blooming red mark where his palm had landed.

"Not in the mood for Whitman," contrary just for the sake of it, and Crowley was mouthing his way back up the side of Aziraphale's neck, tone rough, demanding - as if every word left him a bit more unhinged, more forceful. He was still hyper aware even through the haze, watching for signs of trouble, of hesitance on the angel's part - but it didn't show, not in his tone, not in his countenance which oozed nothing more than the want to have him in every conceivable way.

There was no warning before his hands withdrew - no warning before Crowley grabbed Aziraphale by the shoulder, forced the angel to face him, pinned him to the wall with an unexpected amount of strength for his thin frame.

The demon looked different. Blackened scales that shone iridescent when they caught the limited light - Hell's cruel mockery of the gold that once glittered upon his features - curved along a cheekbone, a temple. His golden eyes shone brighter still, predatory, and blanketed beneath it the vaguest hint of nervousness, self-consciousness, as if he expected the angel to jolt away, to demand he stop. It mollified quickly into something entirely different, more certain; even beneath the ache and want and hunger, the demon's unending devotion shone there still.

The angel had asked for something nobody else had. Nobody else had seen him like this - not intentionally, at least - not in all his years on Earth, and most certainly never at such close proximity. Only Gabriel, and it had been an unavoidable occasion. This - this was entirely willing, though the anxiety that accompanied it twisted as a knife in his gut, almost rivaling the pleasure.

As if he meant to ignore the change entirely, Crowley leaned inward. Their lips touched but it wasn't a kiss, both hands grazing the other's sides, drifting downward to coil fingers beneath the waist of his pants, gripping. "Maybe," he suggested, lips grazing Aziraphale's, "You should pray, instead." He never closed the distance, even after that serpentine tongue darted out as if to taste him for the first time, flicking across his lower lip - daring Aziraphale to claim something he lacked permission to.

"She may not have mercy after all the things I'm going to do to you."

But he didn't progress, not yet. In this moment he needed to be certain it wasn't too much, and his eyes met Aziraphale's, searching - though they still looked for all the world as if he were set to devour him whole.

The angel reveled in the punishments as much as he loathed them, blooming with it grunts of exasperation, feeling the blows and scrapes against his pale skin with a heinous delight. He turned with the demon’s hands, pinning himself against the wall- hoping for even a taste of blessed salvation, for a scrap of pleasure amidst the delicious, venomous discomfort doled out so readily.

But then, the moment stopped. The angel stopped. He didn’t breathe, didn’t move a single muscle, paralyzed as if frozen in time. He stared, eyes wide, a mixture of caution and affection in his gaze, in some way begging the demon for something- a vague need, curling in the empty pit of his soul, one that not even the angel fully comprehended.

Aziraphale wanted to melt into his lover, cup his face and trace a finger along the obsidian scaled skin, struck by the demon’s beauty even now, even despite its grim reminders- Despite the nightmares that he wished would be stripped away, scrubbed from his mind and body alike, the ones that left him feeling soiled and alone. But this was different; despite his trepidation, gazing into those golden, vivid eyes, he saw through the mask, through the hunger. He saw the fear, the love, the trust. He saw Crowley, and any doubts lingering in his mind, in his flesh, melted away.

He chased the demon’s lips briefly, almost imperceptibly, withdrawing himself at the realization of it. The angel was vulnerable in a way like never before. Raw and aching, his heart bleeding for reprieve, his body throbbing with need- one that only this beautiful, unholy creature could satisfy.

His tongue wet his lips, preparing for speech as if for the first time. His voice was gruff, strained, with the barest hint of Divine light- just enough that the words buzzed around them, bittersweet and holy. “Lord, make me an instrument of your peace. Where there is hatred let me sow love. Where there injury, pardon; Where there is doubt, faith…”

The angel lost himself in Crowley’s gaze, heart beating as if it would shatter his ribs. His countenance spoke volumes; as if he were praying for Crowley, praying to him, the words clinging to them both, static in the air.

“..Where there is darkness, light; Grant me that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console…” Aziraphale’s celestial beauty looked renewed, invigorated, as if each word revitalized some piece of his broken spirit. The light spilled from him in waves, bright at the dampened curls haloed upon his crown. He was an angel- a true angel; one as God intended them all to be; the perfect beings of light and love, and forgiveness.

“..not so much to be understood, as to understand; not so much to be loved, as to love…” The elements of ethereal beauty seemed out of place, his hips gently wriggling themselves back and forth, cock hard and throbbing and begging for release, begging for Crowley’s merciful touch, his sacrilegious tongue. As if the angel speaking the prayer was defilement unto itself, the words radiating from his being as if they were one; a vulgar contrast to the lust and temptation guiding his words at the demon’s beckoning, spoken not in religious devotion, but in vile pleasure.

“..for it is in giving that we receive…”

Crowley watched Aziraphale, watched him until his mouth began to form around the words, and then a soft breath between them, a shuddered exhale - it wouldn't have been apparent if he weren't so close. His fingers flexed against the fabric they were gripping - as if his body were reminding him to catch up to his mind, which had fled the moment entirely, washed away by an incredible sense of relief. The last barrier - his last barrier, torn down between them. For a long while he couldn't look away, mesmerized by the sight before him, the incomparable beauty of his angel, awash in divine energy -

Aziraphale, his angel, holy and pure, appealing to the Lord as he writhed in pleasurable agony. Aziraphale engaged in such a deliciously blasphemous act at all - readily, and because he'd demanded it. Crowley didn't have the capacity for guilt, because the sinful satisfaction these sights gave him had already occupied every corner of his thoughts, rendered anything else void - anything but a desperate desire for more.

He wanted to kiss him. Mostly, he wanted to listen to him pray.

The demon's hands jerked sharply downward, yanking the material over sensistive skin in a single curt motion. "Don't stop," he commanded quietly, against his lips - against his chest, as he sank downward. "I want you to keep going until you're about to come," an arm wrapped around Aziraphale's hips, drawing them inward as Crowley sank down, purposely allowing the angel's cock to graze his bare chest, his throat. His shirt was still on, but open - the demon otherwise still fully clothed.

His gaze still hadn't left Aziraphale's, didn't as he cupped the angel's length against his jaw. The demon turned his head slowly, tongue flicking outward, dragging aimlessly along the side of his arousal. "You know you can't do that until I say so, don't you?" it was a murmur against the head, followed by an almost contemplative lick, serpentine tongue coiling against him in a way no other could.

"Just to be safe, let's say you don't move at all," his free arm slid across Aziraphale's abdomen, forced his back almost gingerly to the wall. While the action itself was restrained, the pressure worsened until his hips were securely pinned in place. "I'll let you move if you can handle.. mm," another slow lick, a squirm of the tongue that seemed for a moment like it might urge him into his mouth - "two minutes? You last two minutes, without stopping, and I'll let you come."

Crowley slunk forward, his tongue flattening to the base of his cock, and began to work his way upward by way of wet, lingering kisses. The words flowed between them, idly, as laying out an obvious condition: "So you know -- if you do come before me, I won't even let you watch."

The angel vocalized his pleasure and surprise with a soft groan, piercing the air as if in agony. Aziraphale watched intently as his companion slid down his frame, as he teased with his hands and tongue, as he commanded orders which, in that moment, seemed impossible. An instinctive hand began to reach for the demon’s hair, longing to grip his locks as if to steady himself, to ground himself, tangibly tether himself to his self control. He hesitated, letting his hand fall again to his side. He was obedient, good. He wanted- needed- to be deserving.

“Corinthians 12:9-10: But he said to me, ‘My Grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me…”

The cries of tortured ecstasy were suppressed to the best of his ability, though roaring to life when Crowley’s tongue circled the right spot, or lapped against his length, slow and steady, leaving a cooling line of spittle in the wake of his hot breath. The angel retained his Heavenly glow, power thrumming within his corporation, revived with each Divine word despite the desecration of them. His wings begged to loosen around them, being contained merely by the last wisps of Aziraphale’s failing strength.

“..That is why for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties...”

Aziraphale kept his hips against the wall. It pained him to do so, his eyebrows knitted in agonized pleasure as he gazed upon the demon, drinking in the sight of the teasing attention being lavished on his throbbing cock. It was profane, tainting the holy words which lingered in the air around them. It tainted the angel’s pure light, his devotion to the Almighty.

“..for when I am weak, then I am strong..”

He clenched his jaw, resolute, determined to earn his absolution, to be driven to an unfathomable pleasure. His breath was approaching a ragged gasp, face reddened with his exertion of will, and his body quivered against each sensitive movement as if falling into it. He couldn’t tear his eyes away, fixated on the demon’s mesmerizing and sinister act, pleading for more, for all the pleasure in existence, for the all pleasure his body could take.

"That's right, angel," it was a throatier growl, the scales glinting red in the light as Crowley continued to lavish his length with teasing affection, as if he planned on taking the majority of that two minutes to contemplate how best to complete the task at hand. Eventually he seemed to come to a decision, a dark smirk twisting onto his features - knowing. His hand set to a hip, and without ever breaking eye contact, Crowley used his tongue to make a show of coaxing Aziraphale's cock into his mouth. He paused about halfway down - a soft huff of breath escaping his nose, and his nails dragged slowly down the angel's thigh, digging hard into the skin.

The demon's tongue cradled him, lapped at him, coiled around and engulfed him - his nails trailed a curve toward his knee, then curled back toward the demon's own abdomen, scraping red marks into the white of his chest, down his ribs. Crowley angled his hips upward as his hand found its way beneath the waist of those impossibly tight jeans, every strained movement outlined by the denim as he began to stroke himself, although really, it was more like rocking his hips into his own hand, demonstrating that snakelike fluidity with every undulation.

An arm still laid across the angel's hips, Crowley gripped at the one beneath his hand, squeezing tightly - his thumb worrying at the curve of bone beneath it, bruising into the skin. Leaving more marks, more monuments, more constellations to remember him by. The angel's words echoed around him, a parallel to the prayer of breaths and sighs and stilted moans - the demon groaned around him, his own hips stuttering forward slightly, and he drew him deeper into his mouth, bit by bit - slowly, as if it were all he wanted in the world for Aziraphale to move, to push into that warmth, to defy the arm still restraining him.

Crowley wasn't sure if it had been two minutes. It didn't really matter. He'd decide when he was done.

“Isaiah 43:1-3: Do not fear, for I have redeemed you…”

The angel’s visage strained with the task of cultivating restraint, which seemed to be a finite resource, dwindling with each crawling second; the effort of which swirled itself in his bright, wanting eyes.

“..I have called you by- ah- by name, you are mine…”

He faltered, words nothing more than chimes in the wind, as the demon’s hand eased itself into his jeans, taking pleasures that Aziraphale wanted all for himself. His nails dug into the back of his own thighs, their sting a needed reprieve from the demon’s assault of sloppy, spit-covered tracks, winding their way around his sex in a manner all too suited for delirium.

“…When you pass through the waters, I - Mm- …I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you…”

His skin screamed with the heat of clawed flesh, searing itself into the tapestry of Crowley’s licentious acts, as bruises bloomed under the spring of fingertips and lust. His head lulled backwards, thudding against the wall in brief, before snapping back into place, blue eyes firmly gazing at his lover’s showy taunts.

“Mn.. Ah- when you walk through fire you shall not be burned” the angel puled, more hopeless and wanton, his hips struggling against the demon’s vice, quivering, reflexively pushing themselves forward, begging to sink Aziraphale’s cock further into the lush, torrid mouth teasing him in its depravity.

“..and the.. the flame shall not consume you…” The angel gazed at Crowley, composure crumbling into nothing, chest heaving with labored breaths, his eyes praying for permission, pleading for it, on the verge of losing control. Please, let me, please.

Crowley's nails dug in harder when he felt the angel's hips straining to move, his eyes cracking open again to peer up at Aziraphale. He withdrew from him slowly, tongue laving over him all the while until he parted from him with one final, visible stroke, a slow curl that flared beneath the head. "Mm, angel... think it's been two minutes, but."

The arm finally withdrew from Aziraphale's hips, hand dropping instead to take the place of his mouth - though his fingers offered less stimulation, idle strokes that barely touched skin. "... are you sure?" Crowley was leaning back as he spoke, watching him from beneath heavily lidded eyes as narrow hips continued to grind against his own hand, slower - pointed. His lips parted in a silent exhalation, his tongue darting outward, a fleeting swipe across his lower lip. "'m happy to let you, of course, but..." it was a breathy hiss, as he granted him a single, snug stroke.

"You know it's over when you do, don't you?" Crowley's head dropped back as he groaned out the question, stretching the red marks that littered his chest taut, some inflicted by Aziraphale prior, some fresh and dotted with blood. They curved in the light, with every sinuous flex of his hips, and Crowley's brow furrowed as he arched upward again, held the position, as if he were trying to stay his own pleasure. His eyes met Aziraphale's, waiting for his answer - because really, it was all about him, and it always would be, and the demon liked it that way. But for the moment, it looked for all the world like he was willing the angel to refuse it, his entire form a writhing suggestion of what he'd miss if he didn't.

The angel hungrily devoured the scene before him; Crowley languidly stroking him, the pace painfully slow but somehow just right, his tempting words, the way his body coiled beneath him, remnants of his serpentine form.

He longed to lick and suck his way around the demon’s lithe form; fold him into all manners of shapes and sink his cock as far as it could go; feel the slender body shudder beneath him in rapture; taste his lips on his tongue.

He wanted to feel Crowley’s ache thrusting inside of him; rough and desperate; hear his name upon the demon’s lips; feel the quiver and release buried deep inside- feel the tongue around his length as he found his own gratification, flowing hot into the demon’s eager throat.

Aziraphale wanted everything- anything – as long as his lover found salvation before he did. He craved it as badly as he craved his own, intensely watching the demon’s hands buried in his jeans with jealous eyes.

“You first, please” he half-begged, with a slight tone of over eagerness, itching to ravage his companion – or be ravaged, each as pleasant as the other- though not daring to move, afraid both of their pleasures would be taken from him, unwilling to push the demon’s cruelty. “What can we do for you?” He stayed against the wall- nothing if not obedient, needing to both satiate and be satiated. His hips absentmindedly rolled into the demon’s strokes and Aziraphale somehow mustered the strength to blunt the sensations- not entirely, but enough- although his body still seemed to move of its own will.

"Mh.." there was the low breath of a laugh, and Crowley's hand fell away from Aziraphale, dropped instead to brace behind him as he sank even further back. The demon's thighs were parted, knees spread wide as the confines of his jeans would allow, the fabric tense with each strained motion. "What you can do for me is stay right there - and watch," as if he were granting him some great honor, some great reward. His free hand flicked the button of his jeans free, nudged the zipper downward, and Crowley tugged himself free from the confines of the rough material, hissing to himself under his breath as he all but shuddered beneath his own grip.

"Again," he breathed, and his gaze darkened upon Aziraphale's, "the Devil took him to a very high mountain, and showed him all the kingdoms of the world and their glory," the Devil had done no such thing - it'd been Crowley, a fact that bred twisted delight on his features, intermingled with a seemingly insatiable lust, wanton and unyielding.

"And he said to him, 'All these I will give you, if you will fall down and - mm," a hand ghosted along his own ribcage, found a nipple and twisted sharply, causing his whole body to jolt, wound tense, "'If you will fall down and worship me.'"

Crowley's eyes were wild, unhinged by the desire that flowed through him, coaxed on by Aziraphale's attentive gaze, the way the angel's hips shuddered just so, the desperate restraint he employed even now, forced to do nothing but watch, but listen. The demon wanted nothing more than to throw him down and claim him for his own - again, and again, but it wasn't time, not yet, and as if he were reminding himself of the notion he loosened his grip, his own hips stuttering once, twice against empty air.

"Then Jesus said to him, 'Be gone, Satan,'" a moment had passed, enough that he'd regained some control, and he took hold of himself again, fingers fanning one by one over the head of his arousal. "'For it is written,'" Crowley wasn't usually so vocal, but he loosed another throaty moan for Aziraphale's sake, tongue darting across his lip again. "'You shall worship the Lord, your God, and only She you shall serve'..."

No holy light surrounded the demon. No ethereal glow. It was just Crowley, awash in his own lubricious sin, a lurid temptation unto himself in his current fixations. His skin was heated, pink, not with self consciousness but with pleasure, and he made no effort to hide it, arching so that his shirt fell open and exposed more of the afflicted flesh, goosebumped and intoxicated by the galvanic current between them, aching to spark from one source to the next.

"Why don't you come down here, angel, and serve me with that mouth of yours?" His eyes darted up and down the angel's form, purely covetous. "Do a good enough job, I might even fuck you for it."

The demon’s hiss shuddered through him, a sound always pleasing in its own right, only being voiced at the right times, and he relished in the guilty pleasure. He rolled his lips between his teeth and tongue, staring as the fabric was pulled back to reveal the demon in all his glory- a growl rumbled in the angel’s throat, primal and raw, as he found himself reduced to little more than empty, desirous thoughts.

Aziraphale ravenously devoured all that Crowley offered, whimpering with want for more, glaring petulantly as he was forced to watch when his obvious need required greater substance. Crowley’s recitation of scripture only furthered the angel’s impossible ache, words flowing around him as a breeze, caressing everything in sight gently and terribly- the fingertips of a thousand lovers, shattering the last pieces of self-control as broken glass. His wings unfurled with sickening crunches of bone, fluttering against the wall in anticipation, feathers swishing against the smooth surface.

When the demon requested him, he didn’t delay, falling onto his knees at his feet: worship. The angel’s hand curled around Crowley’s shaft, his other gripping the crevice of hip to thigh hard enough to bruise. Blue eyes met yellow, showing nothing but gratitude. He dare not ask for more.

His mouth was a prayer its own, tongue beginning at the underside of the demon’s length, drawing a smooth line from base to tip, kisses placed tenderly around his head, savoring the trembling skin beneath his lips. He wrapped his mouth around it, sucking lightly, holding the demon into place firmly in preparation.

The angel’s hand stroked softly, coming to rest against his pelvis, breezing the skin around it, exploring. His tongue teased the ache beneath it, waiting to feel shivers of want, before sinking Crowley’s cock deep into his lush, welcoming mouth.

The process was drawn out, not for retribution or lack of want, but out of quiet reverence, waiting for the signs of need before beginning to satisfy them completely. The angel’s mouth engulfed his length, moving up and down greedily, hand following shortly behind with feathery fingertips, trailing in the spittle unabashed.

It was a shameless, sloppy affair, grunts and wet smacks filling the air immodestly, occasional moans punctuating them, reverberating in Aziraphale’s throat as his own need went untended.

In time, it would become more eager, savage. The angel burying Crowley’s cock deep in his throat- nearly choking on its delights- saliva dripping messily as he forcefully, almost violently, worshiped its every inch, tears forming at the corner of his eyes which closed as if in prayer. The sight was pure blasphemy, the angel’s light beaming even now, pale and holy against the backdrop of ivory wings, contrasting against his obscene, aggressive act of servitude.

The moment the angel settled between his thighs, Crowley reached for him, twisted his fingers mercilessly into his hair. "Mn. 's good, angel," a crooned purr as he tugged at the strands, fisting them into his grasp and twisting, a gradual worsening of tension, saccharine tone suggesting the pain was a reward rather than punishment.

Crowley loosened his hold on his hair to reach trembling fingers toward one of his wings, and his nails scraped gingerly between the feathers, nestled beneath them, combed through - as if he couldn't get enough of the sensation, himself. His hips all but bucked at the first brush of warmth, chasing his lips, until Aziraphale was taking him in and his fingers bruised into delicate skin. The demon's head canted back with a breathless groan of his name; it wasn't far enough to break eye contact - Crowley felt he would never, could never stop looking.

It was the most appealing thing he'd ever seen - the angel, virtuous as he was, lost in his devotion but it wasn't to God, it was to Crowley, lips wrapped messily around his cock in a brazen display of worship that nearly forced him over the edge then and there. He'd have time to feel guilt later, guilt for his own misdeeds, for the darkness within him that led to such a forthright, blasphemous display - but then he wasn't even sure he would, wasn't sure he could ever feel guilty for this, for the unholy union fast approaching, demanding their mutual depravity.

The demon's hips rolled languidly as he relished the wet heat, Aziraphale's tongue caressing him in a way no angel's should have, but then there was a reason Aziraphale was his.

The thought made him shiver, and before Crowley realized it his upper body was drawn upward, the hand previously supporting him replacing the other in the angel's hair, wrapped cruelly into the strands. He jerked Aziraphale's head down by that hold, hips writhing obscenely as he ground into his mouth, thighs straining to part further, taut denim unrelenting in its confinement.

"Touch yourself," the demon commanded gruffly, still holding him in place. He waited for the moment to stretch too long, for the need of oxygen to burn within the angel's lungs before he allowed him to claim a breath, loosening the hold on his hair though his fingers remained, an ever-present threat, prepared at any moment to yank him down again. "Show me what it looks like when you think of me, when you imagine all the things I could do to you - ngh, fuck."

Crowley's composure faltered and he yanked Aziraphale's head back without thought, hips still twitching faintly as if it took every dreg of his restraint to part from him, his breath ragged, telling. "Go on," the hold on his hair softened after another long moment, long enough to will himself back from the brink, and his nails roved his scalp, distressingly gentle after the more aggressive assault on his hair.

There were more changes visible at this proximity, more subtle scales that caught light over sharp rises of bone, smatterings that clouded the pale skin of a hip, the curve of his collar - nothing drastic, but new secrets all the same, those which had been reserved for Aziraphale and Aziraphale alone.

Crowley was nearing a breaking point - it shone in the sweat that glistened upon his skin, intermingled with blood, in dampened strands of hair which clung to his forehead, bracketing that ravenous gaze in fire. Aziraphale wouldn't have to push much farther to get what he wanted - but the demon wanted him starved for it, first, wanted to hear him beg.

The angel made a show of taking a delicious gasp of air. He didn’t need to breathe, but it didn’t matter- he wanted Crowley to see his devotion, hear it in his tattered breath, see it in the sweat beading down his anguished body. Aziraphale shivered, the demon’s wavering voice ringing in his ears- a most beautiful, seductive song- and he struggled to keep his mouth away, struggled to allow Crowley respite, frantic to taste his absolution.

His face was smeared with spit, streaked with sacrilegious tears; it was begging to be used, as if created solely for the demon to abuse and desecrate, for him to command his brutish pleasure. The angel wanted the hands tearing at his hair, hips bucking beneath his jaws, the cries to cut through the air, laced with the sloppy gags of seed spilling into his already full throat. The thought of it bloomed warmth along his own swollen desire, wanting nothing more than to take the pleasure for his own.

With great effort, Aziraphale did as ordered, wrapping a tremulous hand around his already quivering cock. His hand slid to the tip, fingers circling in his slick anticipation, rubbing his head gently though his breathing suggested it was anything but.

His eyes were pleading- please, no- worried that he’d lose himself in the ache that already threatened to consume him. His grip became firmer, his length glistening with clear, sticky need, hand hesitantly beginning to pleasure himself at the demon’s command; wanting Crowley’s satisfaction, and, nearly above all, reward.

A groan loosened from his lips, shuddering into the energy around them, and he looked upon his companion for instruction, for permission, for anything that might quell the pain of blunted sensation. Please. His eyes trailed along the demon’s own golden visage, dancing around the scales which glittered darkly in the light, finding themselves at home on Crowley’s cock which seemed to lure his mouth, drawing him forward slightly. The angel resisted the urge to wrap his mouth around him, just barely, and his wings beat against the air in frustration.

"Keep going," the demon urged, his voice little more than a muted growl, matching the intensity of his gaze, the dangerous desire which burned behind it.

His features had darkened impossibly, looking for all the world like they were drawing the shadow from the room, sharp features outlined in all manner of unspoken threats, of thorned longing. Aziraphale dipped his head and the demon's hand immediately tightened to restrain him, maintained the tension even though he knew the angel wouldn't disobey. He offered one last, fleeting temptation, the image of his hand coiling snug about his own desire, smearing through the spit and mess in a few meandering strokes. He barely seemed to react to them, focused more on Aziraphale, on the obvious hunger and the need to satisfy him - the want for his reward.

Crowley let himself go with one last, ginger scrape of nails. Still holding the angel by the hair, he shifted to rise - dragging Aziraphale upright on his knees. "Don't stop until I come back. You can handle that, can't you?" the hold slackened, and his fingers dropped to brush Aziraphale's jaw gently, though it seemed more menacing than it did affectionate. "Without losing control?"

He didn't wait for a reply - just turned and sauntered toward the bedroom, shirt finally tugged from his shoulders and discarded to the floor. His jeans rode obscenely low on his hips, and were the next to go - but not until he left the angel's sight.

Whatever he was doing, he took a long time, for the circumstances - one minute became two, became five, and yet it felt so much longer - one last intentionally agonizing delay.

The angel was pulled up by his hair, forced onto his knees, the act eliciting a throaty moan as he despondently watched the demon saunter away. His brows furrowed together in distress, as his hand kept stroking along his length, attempting to follow the demon’s command. Obedient.

Aziraphale’s strokes quickened reflexively, and his head lulled back, face staring at the Heavens. The sight was broken and foul and beautiful, his wings trailed along the ground behind him, and his eyes seemed bluer in their desperation. The light, damp curls hung limply, some of them ruffled as if he’d just woken. The angel’s pale skin was marred with scratches and dark bruises, and a handprint spread over his ribs, the reddened skin stinging, rippling its heat along his torso.

He felt the sensations building, coiling themselves dangerously in the depths of his body, menacing and eager to burst forth. His motions slowed, but didn’t stop, a tortured whine escaping his lips as he denied himself the satisfaction of release.

The minutes stretched into eternity- each somehow longer than the last- the pain overtaking Aziraphale’s soft features, carved into them as if they’d never again disappear. His breath was measured, gasping with the exertion, the effort of maintaining his resolve threatening to dissolve into nothing.

Another minute - two - passed before Crowley stalked back into the room, unceremoniously tossing the familiar bottle of lubricant to the floor beside Aziraphale. Nude except for the thin chain around his neck, the demon moved in a slow circle around the angel - watching, assessing, as if he were trying to decide whether or not he'd suffered enough to earn the reward he so desperately wanted.

A part of him was tempted to deny him. The notion lit a spark of sadistic excitement in his chest - it would be so perfect. He could keep him like this for hours, tormenting him, building to a pleasure the angel had never known, would never know again. He didn't yet tell him to stop, reaching down to cup Aziraphale's jaw, appraising his features. The angel was beautiful like this - his brow furrowed in pained pleasure, toeing the precarious line which Crowley had laid before him, just out of reach no matter how close he came to it.

"Stop now," the demon murmured, approvingly, his hand drifting through Aziraphale's hair to rest at the crown of his head as he circled him again - this time halting just behind him. His voice, a velvet murmur in his ear, close enough to blanket the skin: "You've done well." Gradually, his fingers began to tighten in his hair - almost imperceptibly at first, though the pressure worsened as he spoke.

The words, almost tender, were followed immediately by a sharp shove. It might've been enough to send the angel sprawling, if the demon hadn't already wound an arm around his waist, wasn't dragging Aziraphale's body into his own as he forced him down to hand and knee. His chain brushed the angel's back first, and then Crowley's weight sank down atop it, on him, pressing hard enough the metal would likely leave an imprint, winding across his skin. His mouth sealed, hot and open to the angel's nape - he was increasingly partial to the slope of it - sucking hard, and harder still as he descended the curve of his spine, straying only occasionally to nip at the more sensitive skin near his sides, his lower back, teasing with tongue and teeth and the occasional open-mouthed purr.

A haphazard trail of reddening marks outlined his path - several of which would undoubtedly bruise - extending the full length of Aziraphale's spine. The demon was nothing if not thorough, tongue laving a heated trail all the way to the base of the angel's tailbone, where he lingered to suck yet another mark into pale flesh; it was a spot he'd yet to ravage, and his tongue circled, teasing still.

With his angel where he wanted him, Crowley withdrew the arm from around his waist, either hand palming the backs of the angel's thighs to force them roughly apart, half-kneading at the skin beneath his fingers. One hand fell away, reaching for the discarded bottle - he flicked the cap free with his thumbnail, squeezed a liberal amount of the contents into his palm before the bottle clattered back to the floor.

"Tell me what you want, angel. What sort of reward." Ground out against his skin, an impatient demand as his fingers smeared over his entrance, threatening to press inward but they never did, circling, taunting, so close to providing some semblance of relief as the demon waited for the words to come.

Aziraphale’s mouth twitched, threatening to break into a smile at the sound of the lubricant smacking against the ground beside him. He gratefully stilled his hands, only to hear his palms slap the floor, feeling them sting with the force of it. He was shoved roughly forward, and a pained exhale was the only visible reaction he allowed. He didn’t want to provoke anything, not now, not when salvation was so close.

The demon’s injurious mouth was welcome on his salty skin- a needed respite from the edge he’d found himself teetering on not a moment prior. The bruises sucked onto his spine hurt- but they were overshadowed by the ardent throbbing that still tormented his every movement.

He nearly cried out as the demon’s slick hands spread his legs apart, tantalized him; to the angel’s surprise, it was one he only half stifled, his ability to contain himself waning dangerously thin. The cry erupted from his throat despite his mouth being pressed into a tight, thin line; It was guttural, almost barbaric, as it snarled itself into the air.

Aziraphale felt the fingers tease; patiently waiting for what he knew was a confession of his hopeless lust, of his need, of the desire tearing his mind and body into pieces. It was a confession he would readily give, in whatever way his companion demanded. “Ah- do it- please-!”

His jaw was clenched, upper body tensed, the expectation too much to bear; Aziraphale hardly managed to mouth the words, his body rocking unbidden, the need for pleasure too great to control. He fell into it, breaking, letting his composure splinter into a thousand pieces, trusting the demon to reward his subservience in any way he deserved. “Please- please, Crowley…”

The angel became increasingly frantic, the demon’s fingers encircling him in seductive provocation, desperation tingeing his hoarse voice. His nails dug into the floor as if they would chip into the wood. “Ah- please, love, please, do it-” The frenzy overtook him, as he quickly degraded into pleading, heaving lunacy.

Tears glistened in his wailing blue eyes, pitifully, Aziraphale’s whimpers echoing around them- a sweet, torturous melody. He was entirely at the demon’s mercy, accepting his fate, mind shattering under the weight of hungry passionate longing. “Mm- please… fuck me, please-”

Crowley stilled, teeth set to skin, his eyes drifting closed as he took in the sound of him, begging, pleading for his mercy. He couldn't resist the want to let it linger, to persist in his cruel teasing as he lapped his way back up Aziraphale's spine, tracing one fresh bruise to the next. None of them would last more than a day or so, flaring more red than they did purple, but they pleased him all the same - he could make new ones, whenever he chose.

"Mm? Suppose I said I might do that, didn't I?" the words melted into the bite mark - the very real and persistent bruise - upon his shoulder, the demon's hand curling over the peak of a wing to shift it gently out of his way. His fingers flexed against the feathers, and he decided to maintain that grip, enjoying the feel of them beneath his fingers, the notion he had some semblance of control over them and the level of trust it implied.

"Like this?" Crowley's tone was casual dipped in darkness, and it flowed over the words in rivulets, pooling over the mark his teeth fit against so perfectly. His fingers curled, pushed forcefully into him. There was a second's pause, just enough to allow the sensation to sink in - and then he repeated the action, once, twice - immediately following into a rough but lazy rhythm.

His own breathing was coarse, labored, despite the relative composure he managed to maintain; the demon was nearly undone, containing himself as best he could to prolong the moment before he had no more control to spare. All the effort in the world didn't stop him rubbing lewdly against Aziraphale, teeth still only just threatening that mark - a tangible measure of his restraint as it dwindled by the moment. The angel's voice wasn't helping, those frantic whimpers and pleas, and they curled the beginnings of a grin at the corner of his mouth, easily felt against his skin.

"More?"

The skin rippled under Crowley’s hot breath, wings fluttering with overwhelming sensitivity as he grasped them in his hands. Though the majority of Aziraphale’s wings were a creamy ivory, there were more grey feathers than ever before, smattering the crisp white with hints of shadow. Each whisper of darkness was a reminder of his lost faith, blighted by Hell as brightly as his burning scar.

Aziraphale rocked into the demon’s fingers, greedy with want, his body shuddering with each iteration; raspy breath finding cadence with Crowley’s thrusts. The angel, forgetting himself in the throes of pleasure, marked the floor, his fingers imprinting the wood with the celestial strength that was normally contained.

“Yes” he whispered breathily, “oh yes, like that…” The angel’s lungs burned with their impossible task, each respiration heaving his rib cage, sucking in air loudly, practically gasping.

The demon’s breath on the sore, purple bruise; the hand gently but firmly holding his wing as if in possession of it; the fingers curling and sliding inside of him; it all become unbearable. It felt so good, but wasn’t enough- not to satisfy- and soon he found a familiar, pitiful utterance emerging from his throat.

“MmMore,” he groaned, pleading, desperate for the demon to ravage him in every way, to fuck him roughly, savagely, as if the first and last time, his final chance; as if tomorrow the angel would no longer exist. “Yes, please- Crowley- more.. more-!”

The demon took immediate note of the grey feathers - but his mind didn't have the capacity to worry about them, now. That came later, came with the guilt, a package deal, he was too busy, too busy desecrating him more --

Crowley used the hand at his wing to shove Aziraphale's upper body closer to the floor, his knees shifting to nudge the angel's further apart. "You sound desperate," he observed, tongue slicking the bruise in a wet writhe. "Never heard you so desperate for anything," casual as it could possibly be as he fucked him roughly with his fingers, the rhythm staggered, purposeful. Eventually it ceased - that hand withdrawn, shoved between his own thighs.

"You still can't come until I tell you. You know that, do--mn -" the words trailed off into a groan as the head of his cock brushed Aziraphale's entrance, and it was all he could do not to slam into him then and there, "-don't you?" he finished, a lower growl that sunk into the bruise when his teeth did, the mark blooming back to life just as his hips drove forward, filling him in a single, brusque motion. The pleasure flooded him instantly, the first satisfactory touch since Aziraphale practically swallowed him, and his last shred of self control fizzled away to nothingness.

His fingers tugged insistently at the feathers, darted up to cover the nape of his neck. Crowley shoved the angel's face toward the floor, pushing his body into a downward arc as he ground his hips hard into Aziraphale's. The demon's upper body peeled away from him, arm still extended to hold the angel down, his thinner form looming above, poised to devour him entire.

"'s this better angel?" it was low and other and superior, his fingers tensing at the back of his neck. The other hand clawed at a hip, pulling, forcing Aziraphale to meet his own as they drove into him without regard for pace or rhythm, a certain feral way about it that only furthered the desperation of the act, well-complemented by the low growl that tore itself from Crowley's throat.

“Desperate,” he agreed with a moan, “So very- Mn- very desperate”. The angel would agree to anything right now, anything that would lead to easing his swollen, aching cock. His arms had nearly buckled underneath him as he sank further toward the floor, and the spot around his wing tingled with small surges of electricity- so sensitive it almost hurt.

“I can’t- ah-” he acquiesced, “come until you tell me”. He winced, feeling breath and teeth aggravate the already sore bruise, blooming tendrils of white hot pain along his shoulder. Aziraphale screamed as the demon’s cock, without warning, filled him with painful delight; rough and throbbing and urgent.

The angel’s body was forced downward, curling pleasurably under the demon’s weight, eagerly meeting each thrust with impassioned fervor. His moans disintegrated into nothing more than primal, bestial grunts that rose in tandem as the demon pushed himself deeper inside, blessing him with an ecstatic fullness, a warmth unlike any other.

“Mm, Crowley, ah fuck me-” The angel began shouting, voice groveling and ethereal, the pleasure so intensely overwhelming, flooding all of his senses with bewitching euphoria. “I need it, I need you, ah-” He was enraptured, a slave to the demon’s cock, wanting its quivering hardness to sink deeper, as deep as it could go, as rough as he could take.

“harder- harder!” Aziraphale’s pleasured screams seemed to bounce against the walls around them, echoing Divinity, grunts and moans a perverted desecration of his holy light. The angel’s cock ached for attention, and it took all of his effort to continue digging his fingertips into the floor which splintered into spider web cracks around them.

"Good," he praised lowly, relenting in his hold on the other's neck with the faith the angel wouldn't try to rise on his own. "Now let's see if you listen." He'd decided already he'd do his best to make the angel fail; he'd determine a punishment later, sometime - wait until Aziraphale forgot he'd earned one and turn it into a pleasant surprise.

Crowley's hand smoothed across Aziraphale's abdomen, a gentle touch at odds with the violence that tainted every other movement, the briefest flicker of affection in the shadow of his dominance, quickly overpowered by the latter when the arm jerked snug around his waist. The hand at his neck slid up into that pale hair, tightening into dampened strands and yanking him upward. Aziraphale's weight sank back against him and the demon slammed into him even harder, using the change in angle to his full advantage.

He mouthed at the curve of one of his wings, the back of his neck, wormed his devilish tongue into the whorl of his ear. "Tell me how badly you need it. I want to hear you more," Aziraphale was making more than enough noise, but Crowley felt starved for it even in the briefest pause, as if those ethereal tones were a new constant, weaving themselves into his thoughts and drifting into the marred spaces, mending long forgotten fissures and scars.

The demon could already feel the pleasure welling in the pit of his stomach, entire body wrapped in the sensation of Aziraphale around him, every tremor, every spasm. He did his best to quell the waves of euphoria threatening to overcome him, shifting his focus to the angel in his lap. Crowley's hand drifted from his hair to his jawline, down to the front of his throat. For a moment his hand lingered there - pressing in just slightly, albeit not enough to stifle his breath. He claimed a slow inhalation of his own, hips slowing, a few more leisurely rolls, pointed and deep. His nails brushed skin, the lingering threat of pressure - and then the hand was gone.

It fell to Aziraphale's lap, spread fingers cupping his length - the touch barely substantial enough to count. But then it did, because as Crowley fucked him, drove into him time and again, it forced his cock against his hand, a crude parallel to his earlier teasing. "Fuck, Aziraphale -" if there was a thought attached, he didn't finish it.

The angel’s stomach tensed, the gentle caress which ran across was a shock amidst their ferocious, barbaric movements. Then, he was dragged up, voicing his pleasure loudly, enjoying the hand tearing at his hair. His sounds of ecstasy blunted- quickly becoming a mixture of pain and pleasure- the demon’s cock leaving him delightfully and excruciatingly full as their bodies pressed together.

Aziraphale buried his hands in Crowley’s hair, one hand wandering, clawing down his neck and anything else it could reach. The flesh parted easily beneath his nails, blood smearing along his fingertips, leaving a hot trail along the demon’s upper back and shoulders. He craned his neck, licking the corners of the demon’s mouth, moans punctuating his kisses, wild with passion and indulgence.

He already screamed with each thrust, his own hips moving against Crowley’s body, increasing the force. Still, the angel did as commanded, the words tearing themselves from his throat, frenzied and hysterical. “I need it- I would do anything to have you- ah- anything to have your cock”.

The angel continued, his voice cracking as the shouts left his throat raw. “I need you- Mm- need you to fuck me- just like this- Crowley- ah- just like this-”

Aziraphale shuddered as the demon rolled his hips, pushed deeper still; feeling himself stretch over the cock burying itself punitively within him. The hand wrapped around his length tortured him with its generous, voluptuous friction. His hips jolted with the touch, and his body shuddered, responsive and oversensitive from repetitiously denying his own pleasure.

“Crowley- I can’t- ah- I won’t be able to-” his hands gripped themselves into the demon’s shoulders, the angel’s body quivering with rapturous delectation, nearly overflowing, barely containing himself. “-won’t be able to-“

Crowley craned against the hands in his hair, encouraging roughness on the angel's part too; there was no admonishment for his wandering hands, the demon single-mindedly focused on tearing those pleasurable cries from his angel's throat. And then it wasn't so single-minded, because Aziraphale's nails were raking his skin, thin form shuddering into the angel's at the sensation, twisting, like he meant to dig them in harder of his own accord. "Again, you can do that - I'll fuck you hard as you want if you keep on doing that--fuck."

The words rolled off his tongue clipped, as if he weren't aware he was speaking them, coarse and thoughtless. As if in reward for the assault on his own skin, Crowley's fingers tightened around Aziraphale's cock, thumb swiping over the crown between messy, forced strokes. "Won't be able to what?" he demanded, as if he didn't already know, as if he weren't doing everything in his power to push him to that inevitable end.

The angel's lips were close, and Crowley craned to chase them, his tongue darting out to twine lewdly with Aziraphale's. The kiss only lasted a moment before the demon was breaking it with a sharp bite to his lower lip, panting his name, low curses, anything but the permission the angel so desperately needed. He was almost delirious in his pleasure, eyes unfocused, lidded as he registered flashes of the angel atop him - flashes of pristine white and bright blue and of bright red marks on pale skin.

His lips found the bruise again, brushed softly - a wordless gesture, mine; he drove into him again, snaked his hips against him, another slow grind to punctuate the increasingly merciless pace. The demon's muscles were wound impossibly tense, quivering faintly under the strain, with the desperate restraint that'd carried him this far. "Angel -" he bit it back with a hiss, stifled himself smearing kisses over his neck.

“-won’t be able to- ahh- Crowley-” Aziraphale leaned into the demon’s kisses, worshipping his mouth and tongue, the teeth biting against his neck and shoulder drawing him further toward his edge, threatening to push him over it. The bruise was black, blood seeping through skin sucked and bitten raw. It ached, the pain no longer a tether to reality, but a conduit to greater bliss, the pleasure even richer in comparison.

“No, I can’t, mm, I can’t- I’m sorry, I-” His voice rang louder with each word, shameless groans escaping his raw, pained throat. He was hysterical, clawing at every inch of available skin. His wings flapped between them, writhing against their bodies, trapped in the torrent of ecstasy.

“I’m- oh fuck- I’m going to- ah- no-!” The angel attempted to blunt his own momentum, but it was too late. He couldn’t stop himself, and he unwillingly returned the vicious, vigorous movements, mirroring Crowley’s delirious fervor.

”fuck- going to-” Aziraphale’s body tensed impossibly, hanging on until the last moment, desperately trying to contain himself, to follow the demon’s cruel commands. But Crowley’s cock felt so good thrusting with a brutal, hysterical rhythm; was buried so deeply; the pain and pleasure curling undeniably in his stomach, invoking salvation.

“Fuck- Crowley- no - I’m going to come-!” The angel convulsed against the demon; a throaty, reverberating wail cut through the air, his pleasure rippling through each and every muscle. His head fell into Crowley’s chest, eyes rolling back as Aziraphale gave into the ecstasy completely.

He tightened around the demon’s cock, internal spasms beckoning Crowley’s own release, as his come flooded his fingers, hot and forceful. The angel shuddered against him, lost to the pleasure absolutely; awash in the euphoria and absolution as the demon continued to vulgarly, roughly fuck his constricting, quivering body.

Crowley couldn't find it in himself to respond to the angel's frantic cries, too lost in the thick of sensation, of Aziraphale's nails dragging over his skin, splitting him open, the other rutting in his lap, graceless and tinged with desperation. It matched the other's tone, matched the hoarse growls that bathed Aziraphale's skin, the way the demon's arm tightened around his waist as if he meant to fuck him harder still.

Aziraphale's wings fluttered against him and Crowley turned his head, nuzzling thoughtlessly into the feathers, his tongue darting out between them in what might've been a soothing lick were the situation any different, were he not currently pounding into him with complete abandon, fingers rough and snug about his cock. "Yes," the demon assured him eventually, as a few of the angel's words sunk in - "you are," he growled, and it still wasn't a concession, just a statement of inevitable fact from which Crowley offered no reprieve.

Crowley felt the other's muscles tighten around him, and a more desperate cry was lost to the feathers - his own hips stuttering to a stop for a moment, as if he knew a single movement would undo him - but his self control was already worn far too thin, and his skin stung, and he could feel Aziraphale's release spilling over his fingers. He continued to stroke him with the same immediacy, smearing that slick heat over him, trying to prolong the angel's pleasure, to coax more of those shuddering spasms to life around him where he stayed, buried.

The demon couldn't wait - not anymore, there wasn't reason to, and eventually the hand around him relented, lifted to join the other arm in looping around his waist. His grip vice-like, Crowley pushed into him gain, every forceful thrust paired with a litany of growled curses, senseless, his forehead dropping to rest against Aziraphale's hair, as if continuing sapped every ounce of his focus, of his will for anything but the building pleasure that already coursed through him, coiled in his gut, his chest, the base of his spine.

This was Aziraphale, Aziraphale who'd prayed with the demon's mouth around his cock, who'd begged so thoroughly for more all the while in ways even Crowley hadn't been able to imagine, would've never imagined, this was the weight of perfection melted into, against, around his own form. His angel, body and spirit and everything and it all belonged to him-

"Aziraphale, that's - ngh, perfect, just -" it was a pointless demand, one he didn't manage to finish because he didn't need to, overtaken by a shudder that racked his entire frame as his hips jolted upward to meet him, rhythmless, a few more staggered thrusts until he came and came hard, driving deep into his angel, the tension of release wound through the entirety of his body as he clutched Aziraphale against him. "Fuck, fuck - I can't," low utterances, ragged as he continued to move, forcing the peak of that pleasure to persist just a few seconds longer - until the sensation was too much, and the demon shuddered to a halt, his own gasps spilling heavily across the back of Aziraphale's neck.

Aziraphale reciprocated each movement, arms wound around his demon, nails scraping the back of his neck, encouraging his savage, desperate thrusts. He let the moment overcome his senses. Everything in his body was screaming, his face twisted in pure, agonizing bliss, as he ravenously enjoyed the demon’s utterances and moans, the way his hips jolted, discordant and rough. His own cries pierced the air; Crowley’s cock spasming impossibly so very deep inside of him, filling him with hot release, the demon’s body shivering with ecstasy.

He held onto him, feeling their gasps, the sweat slick between them, their ejaculate smearing lazily down his thighs. There was a crude purity to the moment, and Aziraphale basked in it, in the love that Crowley reserved for him only, in the messy brutal expression of it.

He twisted around, maintaining their connection, and kissed the demon deeply, savoring the taste of salt and blood and spit on his lips. The angel, finally, not bound by the need for permission, slipped a hand along the demon’s cheek. He caressed the scales beneath his fingertips, admiring the way they glinted in the light, a haunting, unholy beauty. Briefly his eyes searched the demon’s, as if expecting him to pull away, but he didn’t wait for it to happen- he dipped his head for another lingering kiss.

Aziraphale slowly became aware of the pain still tearing itself through his frame, particularly the nasty bruise spread across his shoulder, the scratches along his ribs and thighs. He let his head rest on the demon’s chest a moment longer, before he began to pull away, reluctantly severing the connection between them.


	3. Serve

Aziraphale was mid-sip and stilled. The angel’s eyes glittered, as if the demon had offered all of his favorite desserts at once. He finished his drink, set the cup down, and stood up, all in one fluid motion. “Shower.” He echoed with a devious smile. “I’ll get it started a while, shall I?” But he didn’t wait for an answer. The angel was already walking toward the bathroom.

He entered and immediately laid his eyes upon the three bloodied feathers littering the floor. His lip twitched as if it attempted a snarl. With a wave of his hand, all traces disappeared, the feathers tucked neatly away in his bag for later inspection. He took a long, deep breath, smoothing the anger from his visage, attempted to drain every drop of fury before his companion entered the bathroom. The peace was tenuous at best; Aziraphale couldn’t afford to shatter it, not now.

He turned the water on, the steam immediately filling the room. Realizing he’d miracled it too hot, he manually turned it to the appropriate temperature. With a sigh, he disrobed, allowing the cloth to flutter to the floor around him, slipped off his underclothes, and stepped into the water. His mood had soured considerably.

"Mhm," Crowley affirmed as the other meandered off toward the bathroom - waiting until he was gone to all but gulp down the rest of his coffee. He had the pleasant beginnings of a buzz - far from drunk, for certain, it took a lot more to get someone like Crowley to that level - just a familiar, nice warmth flowering out from his chest. He'd barely thought about the feathers since he left the bathroom in the first place - certainly wasn't thinking of them then as he rose to trail after Aziraphale.

The demon's tanktop hit the floor, followed shortly by the boxer-briefs, and soon he was slinking into the water behind the angel, a pleasant groan rumbling from his chest as the warmth hit his skin. Unaware that anything was remotely amiss, Crowley slunk his arms around Aziraphale, nosing a kiss to his shoulder. "After this, breakfast - then hot springs," he murmured against the skin, the only things that seemed to have a place on his agenda - and breakfast was solely for Aziraphale's sake.

“Hm? Oh. Oh, right. Mhm. Sounds lovely, dear.” The angel did his very best to retain the cheeriness to his voice, but it faltered slightly, not by way of intonation, but by his vernacular. He leaned into the demon’s kiss momentarily, and then began washing himself, following a surprisingly normal hygiene routine despite the presence of his lover.

He tried not to look, being quietly furious and attempting to stay that way, but his disobedient eyes trailed along the demon’s frame greedily. “So, h-how was the coffee then?” he asked, in an effort to distract his mind, from both the anger and the lust, which was rapidly consuming his thoughts the more he looked at his companion.

If Crowley noticed anything wrong, he didn't comment on it - after a few more what he thought were well-placed kisses earned little response, he'd withdrawn with a look of mild confusion. He opted not to push it, though he did wonder why the angel'd dragged him along for... well, a normal shower. He generally didn't waste his time with them. Still, it was nice to watch Aziraphale in his usual slightly-obsessive routine.

Watch was really all he did - not even trying to be discreet about it. The demon leaned a shoulder into the shower wall at some point, arms folding lazily across his chest. "You figured out how I like it ages ago - it was good. Didn't you notice I stopped complaining about every cup?" the corner of his mouth quirked upward, his usually perfectly tousled hair slick against his temples, his forehead.

The angel did his best to contain his reactions, as Crowley kissed the sensitive places of his neck and jaw, but his breath became heavy with want. Aziraphale rinsed his hair, which offered a perfect view of the demon, glistening with water, strands of hair plastered against his wet skin. He couldn’t help but feel himself stirring, and clenched his jaw in protest- but couldn’t tear his eyes away.

His gaze started at the demon’s eyes, and trailed lower, lingering on the more delicious sights shamelessly. Aziraphale’s cheeks took on a light pink hue- which he hoped could be blamed on the water- and his chest heaved onerously the longer he looked at his lover. The anger and desire twisted themselves in his gut, created a tempest itching to be released.

Crowley observed with one eyebrow lofted, waiting until the angel was really and truly fixated on him to take a step nearer. "I can leave you to your shower, if you want," he offered, lifting a hand to brush back a few pale strands from Aziraphale's face. "Though the view's very nice," his other hand lifted to set at a hip, giving it a gentle squeeze. The slightest temptation when the angel was already well on his way there couldn't hurt, he supposed. Maybe he was the one tempted. He couldn't often keep track, these days, had rather given up trying.

It was a sight the demon'd never expected to see, Aziraphale, his form glistening beneath the spray of water, the pale waves of hair that seemed to strain against the moisture's weight currently flattening them to his head. Crowley slunk closer still, nearer his face, his breath intermingling with the warmth of the steam against his lips. "Should I go?" it certainly didn't sound, or look as if he wanted to.

A sound surprisingly similar to a growl tore itself from the angel’s throat, the last strands of his self control snapped upon feeling the demon’s breath on his lips. He pressed their lips together hungrily, and in one motion, pinned the demon’s frame to the shower wall. The lust overflowed- and quickly- as the rage carried his elation to new heights.

His kisses were rough, almost violent, as he bit and sucked at the demon’s throat and chest, bruises and bite marks blossoming dark and painful against Crowley’s pale skin. His anger found a home, married to his carnal desires, blooming an urgency that Aziraphale had never before experienced.

Every infuriating action the demon had ever done weighed heavily on his mind, motivating his lips and hands and tongue, which seemed impatient and insistent, demanding more skin, more desire, more vengeance. He shoved the demon’s hand from his hip, to a place slightly lower, silently commanding Crowley’s obedience.

Crowley was surprised first by that growl - though it bid his lips twitch into a smile when the demon realized he was going to get what he wanted. Maybe not exactly what he'd wanted, he noted, as he was pinned against the wall - the action tearing an encouraging purr from his throat. He'd been about to slide the hand at Aziraphale's hip to his lower back, to coax him closer - but then the angel's hand covered his, guided it lower. He was quick to abide the silent demand - sort of. The demon's hand splayed crudely between Aziraphale's thighs, began to rub in slow, almost goading circles. If those kisses were anything to go by, already drawing forth low murmurs of appreciation, he most definitely wanted this more.

"Didn't know the shower would get you so worked up," he breathed, gold eyes flickering to the bruise, still dark an prominent on the other's shoulder. Various marks and scratches still littered Crowley's pale skin, too - barely faded, though the almost forgotten aches seemed to thrum to life as new bruises were sucked between them, the sensation tightening exquisitely in his gut. He chased Aziraphale's lips the next time he rose to kiss him, nipping outright at his lower lip - "Did you want something, angel?"

“I want you,” the angel whispered, voice dark and velvety, “to shut up”. He pressed a hand against the demon’s lips, not waiting for him to obey. Blue eyes pierced his lover’s golden ones, a cold fire burning in his gaze. His teeth found Crowley’s neck, nipping the skin impatiently, sucking a dark purple bruise into the skin atop an almost healed one. The opened bottle of cooling lubricant replaced his shampoo bottle on the shower’s built in shelf, and Aziraphale liberally squeezed it into his free hand.

“You talk too much,” he all but hissed into his companion’s ear, hand forcing itself between the demon’s thighs. Not even his fingers were gentle, wasting no time, entering Crowley forcefully, as Aziraphale kissed the demon’s cheek, unwilling to remove the hand clamped over his mouth.

The demon's eyes widened in visible surprise at those words - and he was in the midst of opening his mouth to reply when the angel's hand settled over his mouth. "Mph," a sound of protest, muffled against skin, though it quickly faded into a more pleasurable groan. One of his arms lifted automatically to drape over Aziraphale's shoulder, an extra means of support as he felt that hand pass between his own thighs, which parted easily for him. There was a note of defiance in his gaze, still - challenge, maybe, as he wormed his tongue lewdly against Aziraphale's palm.

He huffed, a sharp exhale through his nose, but bit back the moan that would've accompanied it - his brow furrowed with the effort. A very distinctive warmth rose to his cheeks as Crowley rocked his hips - or tried, the position not particularly conducive to much range of motion. It was a fact he noted with some frustration, and his teeth grazed Aziraphale's flesh, a demand for more when he likely shouldn't have been making any. Already his muscles were wound tight beneath pale skin, his nails gripping impatiently at Aziraphale's shoulder, settled right next to the violent-looking bruise.

Aziraphale’s fingers worked efficiently and quickly, curling and pressing into the demon’s prostate, enjoying the way it made his body tense and squirm. He brought him impossibly close- then slowed, purposefully torturing him with the pleasure.

“If you don’t behave,” Aziraphale whispered cruelly, breath tickling against the demon’s cheek, “You’ll get nothing.” He lifted his hand to claim a messy kiss, longing to taste the demon’s tongue, then pressed it down again, silencing him. Clearly it was for Aziraphale’s benefit only, and his sadism only grew with his rage. “Either way, I will enjoy it”.

His hand withdrew from between the demon’s thighs and faintly brushed against him, lecherous and spiteful. He pushed Crowley’s own teasing hand away. The angel began to stroke himself, quivering in anticipation and want. “Mm,” he moaned lewdly at his own touch, hips jolting slightly in their eagerness.

“You’re going to behave now, aren’t you?” He asked, knowing the demon couldn’t respond, which only furthered his arousal.

Crowley stayed silent for as long as he could manage to - which was actually an impressive while, through sheer stubbornness - before the quiet groans began to rumble in his throat. They were all lost to Aziraphale's hand, and then to his mouth. The demon returned the kiss with fervent want, trying to follow as Aziraphale withdrew only to be pressed back by his hand again. A low grumble of frustration followed, hitching into something entirely different under the continued assault by the angel's fingers, and the demon's hips twitched as if desperate to fall into rhythm.

Aziraphale pushed his hand away but Crowley didn't let it fall - apparently no more intent on behaving even with that warning - his fingers hungrily roaming over every dip and curve, nails occasionally biting skin as the angel began to touch himself. Crowley longed to sink to his knees before him, to taste him, to feel the other's hands in his hair with the force of his current anger. Crowley could feel it, of course, a shift like this didn't come from nowhere but it wasn't as if he could ask questions now. Not unless he really wanted to, really needed to - and did he?

No, he decided, his eyes narrowing, and he wormed his tongue enticingly against Aziraphale's hand, exhaling as he did, his mouth oh so warm. Crowley nodded - once, as his tongue continued to writhe against his skin - and proceeded to misbehave, winding a leg around one of Aziraphale's, rubbing encouragingly along the back of his calf.

The angel’s lips twitched into a smirk, the demon’s tongue enticing him even in his rage. He wasn’t ignorant to Crowley’s silent pleas, and even encouraged them. He stopped stroking himself, fingers once again thrusting themselves into the demon’s aching body. He brought him to the edge, so tantalizingly close, even more so than before, abruptly withdrawing his fingers before the demon’s release.

The angel claimed another kiss, fervent and wanting, groaning with fury and desire. He cupped the demon’s cheek, and it was almost tender. His blue eyes burned with the fire of wrath, boring into the demon’s own licentiously. “Go on, then,” he said harshly. “Please me.”

His hand slid from the demon’s cheek to wind itself into his hair, gripping it roughly and forcing him down to his knees.

At some point, Crowley's tongue stilled against Aziraphale's hand - as if he forgot it there, wasn't even paying attention, a few quiet gasps that might've been versions of his name muffled against his palm. He growled in overt frustration when Aziraphale's fingers withdrew from him, the hand at the angel's shoulder giving that bruise a quick pass with his thumb, burning the reminder back into his skin.

The nails of that hand raked down sharply across Aziraphale's chest as the demon was forced down, and they splayed to trail through the pink rivulets drifting down his torso as blood intermingled with water, forged winding trails across his flesh. The demon's tongue lapped some of it from the skin beneath his navel, followed the same path downward until Aziraphale's cock grazed along his neck. Crowley's hand followed in short order, palming over him, holding him in place as the demon's throat smeared downward, his chin, his lips, which parted in a sucking kiss to the head of his arousal. His tongue worried messily at the slit, hungrily, before the other's length sank into the demon's waiting throat, which tightened in the brief spasm of a gag - stubbornly soundless.

A hand was already meandering down his own abdomen, clearly meant to test the limits of Aziraphale's control, breaking unspoken rules left and right. He'd regained himself slightly - enough to purr lowly around the angel's length, tongue winding against the underside, slow undulations before the occasional pause to swipe along a vein as he pleasured him, purposely too slow, goading the angel to put the hand in his hair to use.

Aziraphale exhaled sharply; hot, delicious pain blooming underneath the demon’s nails, dragging down his skin, drops of blood goading his lust. The shock of it led to further excitement, the angel thoroughly benefiting from each of the demon’s salacious acts of defiance.

A moan escaped Aziraphale’s lips, as he let his head fall backwards, enjoying the promise of pleasure, grunting when the demon’s mouth wrapped desperately around his length. “More” he commanded, gruff and impatient, the hand in Crowley’s hair tightening with a painful grip when he noticed his lover’s wandering hands. It wouldn’t go without punishment. Clearly his lover wasn’t engrossed in his task, if his hands had time to explore.

He canted the demon’s head up slightly, gazing down to meet his eyes. “I am blessing you with my cock,” he whispered menacingly; as if it were the greatest gift Crowley would ever receive. Aziraphale snaked his other hand in the demon’s hair, using his grip as leverage, thrusting himself into the demon’s throat roughly. “Worship it”.

Crowley's hand stilled at those words - then he withdrew to circle his tongue, pointedly firm, over the head of Aziraphale's arousal. He took him in just slightly, as if he knew what was to come - and then the angel was burying his cock in his throat. The demon's hips rocked as if to meet Aziraphale's, against empty air save for the splattering water, which offered no relief.

The demon's hands braced at Aziraphale's hips, all but kneading into the skin - occasionally digging in harder just for the sake of it, often pairing with the rougher of the angel's motions. Every few moments he would drag him in deeper by the hold, his throat all but convulsing for a moment before he'd relent with a shameless groan around his length.

The sensation of the cooling lubricant functioned as a constant reminder of where Aziraphale's fingers weren't and it drew similar sounds of frustration, seemingly at random as he worshipped the angel's cock, simultaneously demanding more all the same. His gaze was hollow with all but lust and a softer edge of pleading. Every tug to his hair earned a sharper grunt, seemed to round out those wanton edges even more, gaze more and more desperate by the second.

The angel was merciless, fucking Crowley’s mouth shamelessly, until his companion had tears streaming down his face. Aziraphale’s pleasure was evident; his countenance awash in ecstasy; the thrusts which became more savage as he became closer to his release; moans and grunts piercing the air, loud and throaty. The anger burned within his heart, encouraging his brutal, selfish enjoyment.

“Ah, fuck- that’s it-” he breathed, cock buried deep in the demon’s throat, Aziraphale torturing himself with the gratifying lushness of it, using Crowley’s mouth as he pleased without regard for his lover’s want. He enjoyed the view of the demon’s tearful pleading eyes, face reddened and begging, as Crowley chokingly worshipped him entirely.

He tore the demon away from him abruptly, using the hands in his hair to control his movements. Aziraphale’s face was flushed with content indulgence, and the malice glittered in his eyes. “What do you want, love?” He asked as if he didn’t already know, as if it wasn’t written so clearly on Crowley’s beseeching face.

The demon strained readily against the hands in his hair, his tongue darting out in an obscene writhe that caught more than a few droplets of water, straining to taste him again. "Hmn," a breathy sound escaped between quiet gasps of oxygen, unnecessary but lovely to watch all the same. "Whatever you give me," he replied easily, as if it were the most natural fact of the universe, the demon's eyes drifting shut for a moment as he basked in the feel of those rough hands wound into fiery hair, now dark with moisture.

Crowley's thighs parted further with the awareness Azirphale was watching him, strained openly against nothing at all, his own arousal twitching as if the suggestion of the pleasure the motion itself whispered were almost enough to satisfy unto itself. "Anything," he pleaded then, a hand dropping from Aziraphale's hip to rest at his own thigh, where the nails dug sharply into skin - a grounding effort that stopped him taking hold of himself again, finishing it just like that, despite the temptation to see what Aziraphale would have in store for him if he did. "Anything you want, angel, just - mh," his eyes opened again, yellow slits beneath heavy lids seeking out the angel's blue eyes once more, relishing their coldness, their certainty.

"Just let me... let me make you come," the hand still at Aziraphale's hip tried in vain to drag him closer - then smoothed lower, palming the soft skin all the way to the back of his thigh where he gripped intently, waiting, the first real evidence of obedience driven by his own want, now too intense to ignore as he'd been trying to. "Let me please you," echoing Aziraphale's earlier command, the demon wanted nothing more than to experience the sensation of the angel's cock throbbing deep in his throat, the taste of his release on the back of his tongue.

“No,” the angel admonished, cock forcing its way back into the demon’s luscious mouth. It was less violent this time, less demanding. His grip tightened, pulling the demon’s hair arduously. The angel’s voice was a low whisper, almost dangerous, reverberating down his lover’s spine. “You don’t want whatever I’ll give you. You don’t want to make me come.”

“The only thing you want,” he corrected Crowley, “is to please me.” One of his hands lowered and briefly cupped his companions jaw; it was a gentle gesture, almost loving, but made lewd when his nails dug into the skin and guided his lover’s face to sink himself even deeper.

Aziraphale’s gaze lingered on Crowley’s ache, on the hands digging themselves into the demon’s thigh. His mouth upturned into a half-smile, reveling in the obedience, and his hand returned to meet the other in Crowley’s hair. “You will please me whenever and however I want”. With the words, his rhythm quickened until he was as rough as before, delighting in the sounds his companion made, and he began to rapidly approach absolution.

“Mm- I’m so close, love,” he purred, breath labored and deep, chest heaving with the task. “You better get it right this time; you won’t have another chance to earn your reward”. Again, he used the grip on his lover’s locks to tear his mouth away, hastily, before he was too close to the edge, too close to the point of no return.

He observed Crowley’s expression with great interest, committing it to memory in all of its sloppy, pleading glory. Aziraphale’s eyes twinkled with lusty vengeance and fury, which was now a dull pang in his heart. Either outcome would satisfy him. “Now, tell me. What do you want?”

The demon swallowed him eagerly, all but impervious to Aziraphale's admonishment because he'd gotten what he wanted anyway, wasting no time in taking the other into his mouth. Crowley was nothing if not reverential, sucking him lewdly, wanting to drive him beyond the point he could reasonably pull away, taking him impossibly deep into his throat -

Aziraphale withdrew again and Crowley's chest heaved with a blatant growl of frustration. Blood pooled, washed away beneath him as his nails raked further down his thigh, splitting the skin just a little too deeply, still dug into skin and rocking firmly in place to worsen that grounding pain.

The demon weighed his options through the hazy cloud of want, and it was an easy choice to make - "To please you," the s lingered just a little too long - "whenever.. however you want." His wings ached but he wouldn't allow them free, not now, knowing the angel would see and - fuck, he'd never gotten rid of the feathers, that explained - "any way you want it, angel, just let me, please."

Aziraphale wordlessly withdrew a hand from Crowley’s hair, grabbing the lubricant and squeezing a liberal amount directly onto his own cock. He returned the bottle to its place, and then made a show of smearing the thick, minty fluid around his length, lingering his hand along his head with smooth circular motions.

He guided Crowley up, by his hair, and kissed him passionately, a moan building in his throat with the friction of his touch, which began to slow. The angel released the demon’s locks at long last, instead slipping his hand between the demon’s thighs, teasing his entrance, not pushing in further than a fingertip. As their lips sought each other’s ravenously, he took a moment to tease Crowley’s ache with his lubricated hand, feeling the demon quiver under his feathery fingertips, which offered no substantial relief, and instead served to increase the demon’s madness.

He sat towards the edge of the shower, the built-in seat cold beneath him, jarring his skin. “Come” he commanded, sprawled lasciviously, stroking himself while he waited for his lover’s body to engulf him. “Sit.”

Crowley drank in the sight of the angel touching himself, unknowingly wetting his lips as he did - his own need all but ignored in the face of the other's salvation so close and all he wanted to do was push him over that edge, to earn his approval, his love. Aziraphale dragged him up and the demon sank against him unthinkingly, returning the kiss as it was granted, his brow furrowed in something like relief as he tongue twined with the angel's, coaxed it hungrily into his own mouth.

The water stung against the freshly inflicted cuts, already making him shudder by the time Aziraphale's hand encircled him, teasing him, and Crowley's hips stuttered forward as he was suddenly and acutely reminded of his own desire, his hips angling clumsily, lewdly, in a futile effort to prolong the contact. He watched breathlessly as the angel sat, his previously unfocused gaze narrowing, fixating on Aziraphale's hand between his legs, working over the cock he wanted so badly to devour.

Crowley moved automatically when it was demanded of him, though perhaps didn't settle where the angel intended. One knee set precariously to the cool tile beside Aziraphale, the demon's fingers roughly gripping a shoulder, finding purchase wherever the could as the other lifted as well, bracketing his thighs between his own legs. He loomed above him, facing him, one hand at his shoulder and the other lifted to grasp tightly at the metal rack above, one that certainly shouldn't have supported his weight but was, now, somehow--

Before the angel had time to protest, to correct him, to force him down to hand and knee the demon lowered the hand at his shoulder to fumble between them, guided Aziraphale's arousal into place. He sank onto him without hesitation, his head dropping back with a deeper growl. It snapped forward again with an immediacy the demon barely managed to summon so that he could maintain eye contact as he ground down against him, the familiar defiance blooming in his gaze, marked now by a fresh hunger which all but dared Aziraphale to deny him.

Aziraphale groaned hoarsely, cock sinking deep into Crowley’s defiant- but welcoming- body. He closed his eyes, brows furrowed and lofted, the pleasure etched into his features handsomely as his head was thrown back rapturously. Each hand found a thigh, nails digging themselves into the demon’s flesh, encouraging, as his own hips rose to meet Crowley’s.

The angel’s cries of pleasure were unrestrained, tearing themselves from his throat at the demon’s will; Aziraphale already nearly overcome with the sensation. One hand moved to hold the demon’s hip, guiding his movements rapaciously; the other snaked along Crowley’s back, clawing at the neglected flesh.

Aziraphale’s lips grazed his companion’s throat, sucking and biting in between raspy moans and heaving breaths. The angel’s ecstasy carved itself into every utterance, every expression, and every roll of his hips. He opened his impossibly blue eyes to meet Crowley’s gaze, visage displaying the building pleasure shamelessly, goading his companion to drain him of every last drop.

The hand clutching the demon’s hip shifted, wrapping itself around Crowley’s arousal, the friction delicious and wanton, daring him to reach a mutual salvation, wanting to feel the demon’s internal shivers of pleasure tighten around his throbbing cock.

Crowley's own body surged forward the moment the angel met his gaze again, forcing Aziraphale's back against the steam-warmed wall - still cool compared to the heat of the demon writhing in his lap. Every movement pulsed with a desperate voracity that seemed to be encouraged by every blissful scrape of the other's nails. Crowley continued to support himself with one hand as the other drifted back to his thigh, smeared through the spreading red, blooming the harsher pain back to life as Aziraphale filled him so impossibly, perfectly.

After a moment, he used that same hand, still slick with red, to slap Aziraphale's away - took hold of it by the wrist and urged it back against the wall too, an unspoken reminder - mine, or had you forgotten? - though the demon's focus remained solely on driving the other closer to absolution. He wasn't teasing this time, wasn't trying to draw out the moment - his hips rocked roughly, unceasingly, a sharp but well-timed rhythm that seemed to wind through his form entire.

"Later - just, you, want to focus-" a sharp inhalation punctuated the hiss before it could escape him, "-on you, let me - nnh, harder, angel, please," he panted, verging on incoherent though he didn't care - Aziraphale always seemed to get his meaning.

“What makes you think you deserve it?” he whispered darkly, breath caressing the demon’s ear. With the strength of a warrior, so often reserved, he flung Crowley’s ensnaring hand aside and wrapped his arms under the demon’s thighs. Nearly pinning the demon’s knees against his own chest, Aziraphale lifted him off of himself cruelly.

“What I’ve given you-” he growled, “I can take away”. His blue eyes were ice- frozen in their angelic beauty- and he let his gaze linger, boring into Crowley’s wild flecks of gold a moment too long. Maintaining the contact, the angel forced one of the demons legs upwards, resting over Aziraphale’s shoulder. Then, indulging his companion’s plea, he plunged himself roughly inside, a guttural moan piercing the air between them.

His arms continued to hold Crowley- one wrapped around his confined leg, nails gripping into his shoulder; the other underneath the opposite thigh, hand digging into his lower back. As he slammed himself into his restrained body, his nails dug themselves into the demon’s flesh, liberating droplets of dark red blood. The ferocity of his thrusts was intoxicating, encouraged by the leverage his companion’s restricted position provided, and he enjoyed himself without mercy.

"I -", the demon's leg bent easily enough - too easily - though he had trouble finding purchase, fumbled for a moment before he was able to hook it in place over his shoulder, the slickness of the water impeding the action. The momentary distraction of that fumble, of Aziraphale's tone, his eyes seemed to bid time still, and Crowley held his breath - loosed it in a guttural growl when the angel finally slammed into him.

He didn't take the time to consider whether or not he trusted Aziraphale to support his weight - he did, implicitly - and that hand, too fell to join the first in clinging to the angel by whatever means he could, hands roaming his body, worshipping whatever he could reach in overt gratitude. "Like - that, ngh, please, I - fuck - I don't deserve it, I don't." His hands clasped snugly at Aziraphale's nape for lack of a better place to rest, half-tangled into the hair though he didn't use that hold to move him, didn't even try - too paranoid that Aziraphale really would stop if he pushed too far.

The demon's form was almost entirely limp atop him; save for the continual desperate movements of his hips he was pliant, the angel's grip on his shoulder the only thing keeping him from bending back entirely, his own grip on the other not tight enough to support himself. Aziraphale was in complete control - a notion that rippled through Crowley belatedly, the realization sinking in that he was entirely within the other's grasp. He shuddered, biting down hard on his own lip to strangle the embarrassing sound that tried to escape him - only partially succeeding. The water was visibly pink beneath them as it spiraled toward the drain, fat, crimson drops spidering outward over tile as the water whisked the demon's blood away.

"I don't, please, just - mm - don't stop -" nearly every s was drawn by that familiar hiss in the demon's desperation, making no effort to hide it, the gold reclaiming the full expanse of his eyes though it'd gone with the rest of his less desirable traits when he'd woken, dark pupils slitted to nearly nothing as Aziraphale fucked him, merciless.

Aziraphale aggressively used the demon’s body for his own pleasure, holding him as if he were weightless, forcing his body to sink down onto his cock in painful, fevered indulgence. Crowley’s cries echoed against the bathroom walls, little more than a wail, which only served to tighten Aziraphale’s grasp, a savage urgency to his movements which increased with every utterance from the demon’s lips.

“You’re mine” Aziraphale insisted, “I decide what you deserve.” The angel vocalized his contentment liberally and unabashed. His voice was hoarse and guttural, a masculine rawness to it that his usual musical intonation lacked. His groans were punctuated only by his demands, commanding his lover’s reverence (‘Worship me’; ‘Scream for me’; ‘Beg for it’)

His sweat mixed with water and blood, and his moans rang with fervent desperation. The heat boiled in the pit of his being, and it churned, twisting his stomach, threatening to overwhelm him. “Fuck- ah- ” His voice strained against his effort to contain his bliss. It was apparent that he was on the edge- so very close to falling over it. The pleasure was twisted into his features, head thrown back as a harsh, incoherent expression of delirium resounded through the air. “Make me come” he commanded, though salvation was quickly approaching, whether or not the demon obliged.

Aziraphale didn't need to command the demon's reverence - he had it in abundance, in grasping hands and shuddering hips and continued groans of his name. His voice was different, different in a way that he liked and he latched onto it, listened as if he might never hear it again, doing his best to meet every one of his angel's demands, give him everything he asked for.

The demon's own pleasure was blunted, pushed aside in favor of the angel's and he couldn't even be bothered to care - wasn't focused on himself, because those next words washed over him and he was immediately doing everything in his power to do what he'd been told. Except he couldn't, not really, because he didn't have purchase anywhere - the angel was supporting him, holding him, and he couldn't find a way to establish a half-decent rhythm himself. One hand slammed into the wall with a dull smack, and Crowley's fingers all but cracked the tile, clenching hard to support his weight so that he could finally rock to meet him in earnest, the movements frantic, desperate to please him.

"Aziraphale, please - please, I'm yours, you can do whatever - whatever you want," though the words were ground out between clenched teeth they were clearly earnest, Crowley's form - previously slack - now tense, tightened as much as he could around him, strained with effort. "Anything, angel, 'm yours, you decide," blind agreement because he'd agree to anything, agree to whatever it took to feel the angel come deep within him, to feel him overcome by pleasure he'd taken from him.

Crowley’s words were soft caresses, worsening his urgent ache as they pleaded for his pleasure. The angel loosened his companion’s leg, letting it rest beside them, impatient for the demon to claim his absolution, to send him over the edge into madness. He withdrew his arm from under the demon’s thigh, allowing his full movement, unrestrained.

He gripped the demon by the waist, pulling him closer, as if he’d never be close enough. His other hand held the back of Crowley’s hair, controlling him with a firm grasp. Aziraphale sought Crowley’s lips, the passion tangible and fervent as he met them, moaned into them, by forcefully pulling the demon’s hair until he was close enough. His blue eyes were crazed with ecstasy, eager and wanting, encouraging Crowley to please the angel’s every desire.

With each roll of Crowley’s hips, the angel grunted, kissing his demon wildly and wherever his lips found purchase- cheek, neck, jaw- it didn’t matter. The heat between them was unbearable. Their bodies were pressed together impossibly, the arm around Crowley’s waist squeezing as if it meant to crush his bones. Aziraphale’s breath was haggard, lungs burning with labor that nearly exceeded their capacity; he was silent in his rapturous incoherence, save for the brutish murmurs which rumbled from his throat, the pleasure too intense for words.

Crowley very nearly lost his balance - angled at such a precarious position in the first place, his focus was so single minded he barely registered when his foot hit the floor and had to scramble to take hold of the bar above Aziraphale again, his hand slamming into it with a metallic clank. The demon wasted no time - he was already surging toward him before Aziraphale even began to drag him up.

The pull on his hair led him into the kiss, which promptly sapped him of breath, of intent, of focus as his own need hammered back into his awareness, the pleasure abruptly coursing its way through his abdomen, demanding. "Oh, fuck - fuck," the realization of his ability to move had been momentarily forgotten, immediately crashed back into his thoughts and suddenly the demon was insatiable.

He took the kiss as permission for his own lips to roam and they did where they could, wherever he could reach, though eventually they sought out the familiar bruise - he didn't worsen it, not this time, just laved his tongue against it with force enough to make it known. The angel's hold on him tightened and Crowley loosed a more ragged gasp of appreciation around his name.

"I can't - I don't, mng--" whatever the thought was never concluded, wasn't coherent in the first place. His cock was trapped between them, tormented by every wanton thrust, and he found himself moving with an urgency he hadn't thought possible, the pressure to relieve that ache suddenly all too unbearable - and then Crowley was coming between them, gasping against that bruise as he yanked against the hold on his hair, tightened impossibly around him.

His movements didn't falter, didn't cease - the pleasure almost excruciating, his form trembling with it, jolting occasionally from the sensitivity - "'m sorry, I'm yours, ple-ngh, please come, want to feel you." The words rolled off his tongue without so much as passing through his brain, mind completely gone to sensation.

“Mn- fuck-” The bruise sent a shockwave of searing pain through the angel’s body. It only heightened his anger, his pleasure, and he rapidly matched his lover’s pace, delighting in the gasps and moans bursting from the demon’s lips.

Aziraphale felt his lover’s spasms; each tightening incredibly around his throbbing cock, so tight the pleasure became painful, unbearably beckoning his own release. He nearly cried out in rapture, the sensations overwhelming him, yet still he endured. “Ah, fuck- ah, Crowley- you feel incredible-”

Crowley’s come was hot against his skin, dribbling slowly down to mix with lube, easing its way into the creases of his hip and thigh. The tickle of its messy, dripping trail further coaxed Aziraphale, his composure faltering considerably with each passing moment. “Like that,” he groaned, voice breaking with ecstasy, “Oh yes, like that-”

The angel’s hands wrapped around Crowley’s shuddering frame, both sets of nails digging unceremoniously into the flesh of his back. His moans became low and desperate, mouth busying itself with fervid, exasperated kisses, interrupted only by broken, incoherent gasps. “Mm, don’t stop- Mm, you’re gonna make me- mmn make me-”

The angel buried his face in the demon’s shoulder, teeth sinking into skin, Crowley fucking him so excruciatingly well, stretching around his cock so unbearably perfectly; he could no longer tolerate it. His cry was muffled into his companion’s form, and his hips jolted discordant and rough, overcome with a pleasure unlike any other before.

He held the demon against his shivering frame, hugging him impossibly as a vice, threatening to snap his bones with the force. Aziraphale was enslaved by the moment, his release bursting so very deep inside of the demon, who he seemed to fit unbelievably and flawlessly within- so much so that he regretted ever being anywhere else.

After a few more protracted thrusts, the angel stilled, forehead resting on Crowley’s shoulder. He gasped for breath as if it were the first time air graced his lungs, and though his grip slackened, he still held his lover closely.


	4. Let Them See

“Yes,” the angel purred, “there are quite a few people around, aren’t there?” His eyes met Crowley’s, and a sinister desire glittered in his visage- Aziraphale made no attempt to hide it. His fingers trailed along the demon’s chest, their light touch breezing up to his neck. The angel kissed his cheek, hardly more than a brush of his lips, using the opportunity to whisper in his lover’s ear, voice rich and tempting with its darkness. “Do they bother you, my love?” His breath tickled along the demon’s skin, hoping to elicit a shiver.

As if the encounter was devoid of meaning, and was entirely innocent, Aziraphale let his hand fall from Crowley’s chest, brushing along his lap crudely but subtly, eventually making its way to the whiskey. He took a long sip, enjoying the burn warming his belly. His awareness of their surroundings had sharpened, a soldier’s attentiveness, his discipline never fully forgotten even after many years of denying its existence.

Crowley shivered. Visibly. That tone in Aziraphale's voice, all the thoughts that sprang into his head at the mere sound of it... "No, not - they wouldn't usually." Did they, now? The demon didn't know. He felt like they should have.

The demon's hand gripped the edge of the table, white-knuckled. A grounding force when he already felt himself falling out of focus. He couldn't help but glance around the establishment again - this time for a very different reason, chewing at the inside of his lip. He looked back to Aziraphale, his eyes somewhat wide behind dark glasses. "We shouldn't be so - I mean, we shouldn't draw attention."

“Why not?” he asked, innocent save for the look of hunger in his eyes. “We can do whatever we like, can’t we? Perk of being ethereal.” As if to demonstrate his will, he waved a hand. It summoned the waiter, who set two bottles of whiskey on the table, along with a small bowl containing only whipped cream.

While the waiter looked confused, he smiled broadly. “Whatever pleases you, sir.” After bowing his head briefly, he turned around stiffly and walked back to the kitchen, looking around as if he were lost.

Aziraphale dipped a finger in the whipped cream, brazenly holding it to Crowley’s lips, the pleasure glittering heinously in his radiant eyes. “Whatever we want”, he repeated with a slight loft of his brow.

"Isn't it... against some protocol, bending free will like that," Crowley winced - something about it didn't seem right. But then, he'd done it all the time, just never for this reason. "I'm not ethereal. Occult," he corrected, clearly just stalling now that Aziraphale has presented his finger, hovering so near his lips.

The demon's eyes darted around the room again, and then Crowley reached up with one hand, coiling the fingers around Aziraphale's as his tongue flicked out to lick one clean - rather quickly, for how much he usually tried to draw things out. "Mm - what do you want, angel?" Even the tops of his ears were burning. The back of his neck. Everything.

“Isn’t it obvious dear?” he chuckled, smile bright and beaming even in its wickedness. He licked the rest of the whipped cream off of his finger, blue eyes never leaving golden ones, taunting them, enjoying Crowley’s abashed flush. His hand replaced itself on the demon’s inner mid-thigh, resting appropriately despite the salacious way it was placed. His lips found Crowley’s neck and nipped, small but assured, finding his mouth next, kissing tenderly and lightly- a confusing contrast to how forward everything else had been.

He didn’t push the matter, knowing Crowley was on the edge of his seat, pushing into true discomfort. He’d let the feelings stew awhile, patient as he reveled in his lover’s mind being wholly consumed by the temptation he’d so thoroughly placed there. Aziraphale handed Crowley a bottle of whiskey, keeping the other for himself. He took a swig as if nothing had happened at all. “Cheers,” he smiled sweetly. The fruit would ripen, soon enough, and the angel waited hungrily to pluck it, eager to devour it whole.

Crowley exhaled sharply through his nose, his eyes still wandering the restaurant - where now even those who'd previously shot them glares were studiously ignoring them. The demon wet his lips and glanced down at the angel's fingers splayed against his jeans. The next time he shifted, his thighs parted the slightest bit more.

The demon took the bottle, drew a swig straight from it. "I didn't even - I never even participated in my own parties. I've never-" he waved a hand, "-around people." The seed was clearly sown - the fact he was still talking about it at all made clear the extent to which those thoughts were swirling in his head.

“Mhm, that’s nice dear.” he nodded, appearing disinterested, knowing it would gnaw at his companion even further, left to his own devices. Nothing motivated Crowley’s anxiety quite like being ignored. Despite the feigned indifference, his hand continued to rub along his lover’s inner thigh- innocent upon first glance- just innocuous enough to consume the demon’s mind with doubt, wondering the angel’s true intentions, worried about misreading the signs.

He sipped his cocoa again, still pleasantly warmed, adding whipped cream from the bowl happily, as if he weren’t goading the demon with every move. His movements appeared normal, but the look in his eye gleamed with a dominating wickedness, encouraged evermore by his lover’s affectionate subservience.

Aziraphale knew him far too well. For a moment the demon looked as if he might actually expire for his embarrassment, and his brow furrowed as he set the bottle down again - suddenly not trusting himself to be any less sober. Had he had that much to drink already? It'd help explain why he was so warm, at least, could've spared him some shame if he hadn't opened his mouth. He knew the real reason well enough, but he was good at denial.

"Right," he agreed, belatedly and pointlessly, glancing down again to the hand on his thigh - he looked as if he'd just finished a puzzle only to discover the last piece didn't fit. He watched as the first heaping spoonfuls of whipped cream melted into Aziraphale's cocoa.

Wordlessly, he snatched the bottle again, drank, resolve crumbling easily in the face of the angel's perceived indifference. He tried to banish those thoughts from his mind - certain that, somewhere along the way he'd gotten the wires crossed. Maybe he wasn't paying enough attention - though he'd earnestly been trying.

Aziraphale noticed the shift in the other’s confidence, waiting for it predatorily. His splayed his fingers, running them up Crowley’s thigh, and it was just enough to graze the front of his pants with his fingertips. But, the angel appeared to be very busy with Crowley’s dessert, thoroughly enjoying his bite of it, taking a moment to lick the cream from his spoon.

The angel brought a bite of it to his companion’s lips, and despite himself, his eyes glittered with sinister delight. The situation they were in aroused him entirely, a fact that couldn’t be lost on Crowley as he sat in Aziraphale’s lap. “Do try some, dear. It is incredible”.

Crowley's breath shuddered to a halt as Aziraphale's hand strayed inward, and the demon's body went still - frozen in a moment that was equal parts mortifying and utterly arousing - which only flustered him more. His gaze lingered as the angel licked his spoon clean - far too thoroughly. There was a momentary flicker of disbelief on his features, gone just as fast as it'd come. Since when had Aziraphale become the master of temptation?

The demon blinked once, slowly, trying his best not to acknowledge the crowd around them - though he failed miserably, unable to stop his nervous gaze wandering as he slid a hand down to cover Aziraphale's. He wasn't necessarily encouraging - but wasn't trying to stay him, either, an idle point of contact - of acknowledgement. "I ordered it for you," he admitted, his tone notably quieter, as if he were afraid someone might overhear - despite the relative innocence of the statement.

“I suppose you’ll try it for me, too, then, won’t you?” It was hardly a question. Aziraphale urged it closer, so that it almost rested upon Crowley’s lips. He squeezed the top of his companion’s thigh briefly in encouragement, though his grip didn’t quite loosen as before.

The angel could sense that his companion was contemplating their situation, even in his nervousness, and that it excited him. Crowley knew what Aziraphale was doing- there was no mistaking his gestures now- but the angel left just enough doubt to keep his mind busy, just enough innocence to encourage disbelief. His lover wore his mortification well, and Aziraphale had every intention to make him wear it longer- so long, in fact, that he’d be eager to throw himself out of it.

“No one can see us,” he whispered, goading. “Even if they could, we have nothing to hide. We aren’t doing anything wrong… are we?” But the way Aziraphale asked, all low and breath, made it seem like they were doing something very wrong indeed- or, at least, that Crowley was.

Almost automatically, the demon's mouth opened and he took the bite offered to him - it was decadent and rich and far too saccharine, and he immediately disliked it. "Mhm," he agreed unnecessarily, around the mouthful. Crowley downed it with another swig of liquor, appreciating the taste's ability to wash most others away - or at least he would've, if he were more bothered to care.

Presently his focus was on Aziraphale's hand beneath his own, squeezing tighter, and he shifted despite himself - the movement bore no intent, but his weight was still resting in the other's lap, and for the first time he became distinctly aware of the angel's arousal beneath him. His blush, which had finally begun to relent, darkened impossibly.

Crowley was far from an innocent being. He'd experienced most things at some point or another - some he'd liked, some he wouldn't begin to entertain the thought of trying again. But short of a few instances (which had been right place, right time scenarios, usually involving a lot of leather that had a way of masking distinctive features), he'd never dared to do something so bold - not in the wrong place, at the wrong time, both of which he was certain described their current circumstances.

The demon's hand lifted, still hovering just over Aziraphale's. He still didn't move to stop him. "I mean, technically, I'm - I'm supposed to do the wrong thing," the words were slow, rolled off his tongue like he didn't quite believe them. "I -" Crowley's eyes flitted around the room again. The demon chewed the inside of his lip, the skin worried between his canines, jaw set in his uncertainty. He didn't seem to realize an unfinished thought hung between them.

“I think,” the angel began, sliding the spoon onto the table and turning his focus to that of his companion. “that now..” His free hand made its way toward the demon’s chest, drawing faint circles over the fabric, lingering around buttons as if he meant to undo them; undeniably seductive, his voice retained a pleasantly rich reverberation.

“.. you’re meant..” He nuzzled his face closer, breath shivering along the demon’s neck. “..to do..” Aziraphale’s lips grazed the skin just under his ear, as the whisper made its way along the same path. “..the right thing”.

He guided Crowley’s face to meet his own, and kissed the demon, savoring the mix of sugar and whiskey. It was prolonged and slow, just enough tongue to make its intent known, and not enough to make it certain. His hand crept forward slightly, resting in the junction of Crowley’s hip and inner thigh, fingertips grazing the front of the demon’s jeans ever so slightly. He shifted his weight, almost imperceptibly, his arousal pressing against his companion lewdly, separated only by the layers of cloth. “Now, what do you suppose that would be, hm? The right thing?”

Crowley found it difficult to meet Aziraphale's gaze suddenly, even through the shield of those glasses - but he managed to hold it for a long moment before glancing away again. The angel's breath was warm on his neck and he felt the sensation lick down his spine, fought the urge to squirm that already overcame him because really, he was a demon, all Aziraphale was doing was talking - but so were the patrons around them. In fact, he could overhear the conversation at the table beside - though he didn't understand the language.

He exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he was holding when the angel's lips brushed beneath his ear, tilting his head slightly until Aziraphale was angling it toward his own face, and the demon could do nothing but return that kiss - still hesitant, but undeniably more present, his body betraying the lustful thoughts the angel already knew he'd inspired, thoughts which were growing rather more sinful by the second.

When the contact was broken, Crowley tasted blood - his own, for how hard his teeth worried at the inside of a cheek in his worsening anxiety. Anxiety that for once, was not entirely unwelcome - in fact, the demon suspected it was half the reason Aziraphale was succeeding so completely. It was a new sensation. A vulnerable one, and Crowley bore an acute awareness of that fact.

He managed not to make a sound as the angel's fingers roamed, his body still, breathing slow and overly controlled. It took him a moment to register that he'd been asked a question - the demon had been distracted by the fact that his jeans suddenly felt far too restrictive. "I..." he repeated, not knowing he'd said it in the first place. Aziraphale couldn't do the wrong thing, could he? Wouldn't. Not if it were really awful - and Crowley had certainly done worse - "... whatever you say it is, angel."

“Whatever I say it is?” The angel smirked, watching his lover squirm as Crowley barely retained his composure, knowing he would only half register his words. “In that case,” he whispered, already sucking at the skin of Crowley’s neck salaciously, “I’d say this is the right thing”.

The hand holding the demon’s thigh shamelessly caressed the front of his jeans, delighting in their restriction, drawing a few small circles against his length through the cloth. With the same hand, he slowly began unbuckling Crowley’s belt, savoring each sound it made- the metal, the leather sliding out from underneath it- enjoying the sensations of it under his fingertips.

The other hand was already working at a button, circling it hungrily, before slowly undoing it and letting the cloth part, exposing more of the demon’s chest. Aziraphale continue to suck on his lover’s throat, tongue sliding suggestively over the skin, making unspoken promises against his flesh.

Crowley couldn't help but move, shifting as best he could to angle himself out of - well, anyone's line of sight. Not that they were registering his presence - didn't seem to be, anyway. His stomach crawled at the notion they might, and - quite abruptly and without much (or any) forethought, the demon reached a hand up to nudge one of the glasses littering their table right off the edge, quickly scanning the room to see if there was any reaction to it.

None.

The demon inhaled, exhaled - counted in his head. Aziraphale's words didn't register - just warmth and breath and the voice he was addicted to, coiling wickedly in his thoughts, demanding acquiescence. The demon's thighs parted outward, slow, still tentative though his body felt as if it were reacting on its own, his mind struggling to catch up to the fact that he'd already succumbed.

The demon still wasn't making any noise, though his breath came heavier with every kiss, every heated stripe licked onto his skin. "Aziraphale," he murmured - half desperate, aimlessly. Asking for something, but he didn't know what.

“Yes, love?” But, unsure if there was a thought attached to the plea, the angel didn’t wait for a response. As soon as the demon parted his legs, he knew he’d succeeded. Now all he had to do was remain patient- just a little while longer- take his time to let his tinder catch fire. He trembled with the anticipation of it; his lover acquiescing to his wants, no matter how bold, wanting to please and, in turn, be pleased. Aziraphale wondered how much more it would take for the demon’s body to beg.

He met the demon’s lips, tongue searching for answers, wanting to taste the fervor and lust that drove Crowley’s appetites despite his mind preoccupying itself with trepidation. His hands made themselves efficiently useful. Only one button remained, and it was presently giving way, allowing the cloth to billow to either side. His hand relished in the warmth of Crowley’s flesh, savoring its silken heat, as it brushed along a nipple.

The demon’s belt, too, had faltered- undone entirely, hanging uselessly in its loops. Aziraphale was trailing his fingers along the zipper of Crowley’s jeans, circling the button, paralleling the zipper, waiting for the jolt of hips that would signal their welcome. The angel’s hips rocked gently, a subtle motion, but enough for his own ache to receive friction against the demon’s thighs.

Crowley returned the kiss, slightly more eager with the assurance that none had noticed the glass breaking near their table - it'd vanished almost as soon as it hit the floor, but nobody had reacted to the sound, to the fact it'd fallen at all. His tongue coiled against Aziraphale's, the tip running briefly along his teeth - the faint taste of iron from the demon biting his own lip lingering between them.

The demon's hand settled at Aziraphale's shoulder, gripping tightly - not for any particular reason beyond the tension coiled within him, eager to find any outlet to strip it away. His form practically jolted as the angel caressed his bare chest; he'd barely registered his shirt opening, hadn't realized Aziraphale had already progressed so far. He loosed a somewhat shakier breath against Aziraphale's lips, completely forgetting he'd been asked a question.

He slunk back against him, the movement only slight; he was still fighting not to react openly, his free hand back to gripping the table's edge - he was sorely tempted to reach for the bottle again but couldn't bring himself to do it, as if releasing that hold would sever the last tether of his own self restraint, the last reminder of what, exactly, was happening.

His head snapped around as the waiter - their waiter - drifted past to attend to another table, oblivious.

It wasn’t enough, not for Aziraphale; the demon had to want it, beg for it, need it. He was determined to make it unbearable, for each movement to increase the desire until it was enough to shatter Crowley’s body as glass. Gingerly he helped Crowley out of his shirt, basking in the sight of his anxious frame, exposed for all to see- if they hadn’t been commanded not to, anyway.

The angel withdrew his touch, momentarily, giving the demon something to focus his attention; Aziraphale took his time, undoing his bowtie and slipping it off, tugging on one side. He proceeded to unbutton the top few, allowing a tease of chest, tantalizing in its flawlessness- marred only by several unhealed bruises; a reminder of what awaits.

Aziraphale bit into his lover’s neck, sucked along his throat. His kisses lowered, tongue shivering the skin beneath it with its heat, drawing a sloppy line to the demon’s collarbone. He let his mouth wander, lingering above a nipple, biting it gently before moving further downward, teasing the demon’s ribs with a promising tongue.

His touch was firmer now, letting his nails catch skin as he ran them along Crowley’s body, and he savored the slender frame, the protrusion of bone, the ripple of ribs. His fingertips danced along the waistband of his jeans, slipping under the cloth just enough to make their presence known, though not enough to offer a substantial touch. Aziraphale waited, hungrily, eager to claim Crowley yet again; even more so to take him here, passionately and loudly, and invisible to those surrounding them.

Crowley allowed the other to pull his shirt open - to a degree. He didn't let the garment fall entirely, leaving it bunched around his elbows with a faint headshake - open was as far as it'd get, for the moment, and that still felt like too much. His entire chest was flushed, almost as red as his face, darkening still now that he was more exposed - something that had never once bothered him as it did now.

He watched as the angel removed his tie, undid those top few buttons and his breath caught again when he stopped - as if he'd been cruelly denied. But then Aziraphale's lips were on his neck, possessive, sucking fleeting brands of ownership into his skin. The demon's hand fell from the table, lifted to cover his own mouth to stifle a groan at that gentle bite; for the first time, Crowley's hips ground back to meet him. His brow furrowed in an even mix of surprise and pleasure, as if he were shocked by his own actions - however inevitable they may have been.

The angel worked his mouth back up to claim a sloppy kiss, nipping skin and sucking bruises along the way. His fingers still teased at the demon’s waistband, and though they buried themselves a bit further underneath the cloth, they offered nothing more than promises. Aziraphale’s skin was flushed, pink with want and whiskey, and it contrasted against the paleness of his complexion, the strands of hair so blonde they were nearly white. His hips continued to beg, rubbing himself against the demon, waiting to be welcomed with particular fervor.

“You know,” the angel soothed, trailing along the demon’s neck and jaw with a feathery fingertip, “you can be as loud as you want.” His fingers withdrew from his lover’s waistband, making a show of unbuttoning and unzipping the demon’s jeans. He kissed him again, a smoldering passion to his lips that encouraged, tempted, “I want you to be loud.” Finally, his hand slipped under Crowley’s jeans entirely, teasing against his length, exploring as if he’d no intention to offer a more substantial touch. “You do want to indulge me, don’t you, love?”

Crowley's hand fell away, grasping firmly onto Aziraphale's other shoulder, unintentionally gripping that bruise. He was still rocking to meet him, slower, contained - but his movements were taking on a particular quality, more serpentine, more intentional - with every subtle undulation. Aziraphale kissed him and he loosed a quiet sound into the contact, voice wound into breath.

"I can't," he protested, "can't be loud when there's - mnnfuck," he jolted slightly at that first touch, bowing his head to rest against Aziraphale's temple. Finally, his attentions were shifting entire - wrapping themselves around the angel beneath him. "I can't, I can't - whatever else you want. Tell me." It was a desperate demand for something to do, a way to distract himself enough to forget the room around them, the clink of cutlery, the muted conversations. "I want to."

“You can’t, hm?” whispered Aziraphale, letting their kisses melt together into a mess of tongue and teeth. The hand in his partner’s jeans withdrew slightly- a warning, just long enough to instill doubt- and then continued its light, lascivious touches. “How disappointing” he breathed, voice rich with want, ending their kiss.

He returned his mouth to Crowley’s neck, the bruise there growing impossibly large, nearly consuming the entire side of it. Still, he continued to darken it, the skin nearly raw. His free hand pinched a nipple, admonishing. “I really don’t like being disappointed, dear.”

Aziraphale’s hips stopped their gentle rocking, as if they’d lost interest; the absence of their movement was painfully obvious. “I wonder- What ever will you do to make it up to me?” The angel’s hand was becoming more generous; squeezing the demon’s length; tracing tantalizing circles along his tip, trailing in the dampness unabashed. “That is what you’ll be doing, isn’t it? Making it up to me?”

"Something else," he volunteered almost immediately, as soon as Aziraphale's hand stopped moving - biting his lip immediately thereafter to stifle a low sound, the tail end of it escaping in a hiss between his teeth. "I'll do something else, whatever you want." His words were barely above a whisper, lacking their usual insistent whine - the words sounded entirely too earnest.

His neck ached, and Crowley dropped his head to rest at Aziraphale's shoulder, mostly just for the sake of stretching it - of feeling the dull ache of the marks the angel'd left there burning against his skin. The demon loosed a quiet curse beneath his breath when Aziraphale pinched sensitive skin, arching a little too eagerly into the reprimand. "Mn.. sorry. I'm sorry, I'll make it up to you. However you want me to, angel. Just tell me what you - mng," his hips stuttered forward, and Crowley's fingers tightened against the fabric of Aziraphale's shirt, " -what you want."

The demon couldn't ignore his surroundings, but he could lose himself in Aziraphale to forget them. Crowley shifted - purposefully, this time, and lifted his weight to settle into the angel's lap properly, straddling him. "Tell me how to make it up to you," he managed a complete sentence - one that made sense in context, and it heralded the dissolution of his own control, his complete faith in Aziraphale to take it.

Aziraphale pushed his upper body forward into him, so deliciously close, their lips nearly touching. Crowley’s back rested against the table and the angel positioned his lover’s arms so that Crowley’s elbows rested on the table as well. Aziraphale parted his lips, as if to kiss; abruptly he leaned back, whiskey bottle in hand, leaving his companion stretched, supported by the table and the angel’s lap. He took a long, excessive swig of whiskey, delighting the sensation of warmth it bloomed.

He traced a hand along his lover’s lithe, slender frame, as he continued to drink, appreciating the view. He leaned forward once again, lips so enticingly close, but he merely slid the bottle back to its proper place, leaning back into the chair immediately after.

Both hands drug their nails along the demon’s sides, not enough force to leave marks, just enough to elicit goose bumps in their wake. Aziraphale was still toying with his companion, delighting in the subservience that he seemed to fall into naturally.

His fingers tapped along Crowley’s opened waistband as the angel gazed into his lover’s eyes, searching for any hints of defiance. Satisfied with finding none, he slid both hands into the demon’s jeans, each working in tandem- one gently stroking him, taking moments to brush along his head through the want that slickened it; the other cupping his testes, rubbing gently along them with his thumb.

The angel had every intention of hearing his lover scream, eventually, but he now savored the moment- Crowley spread along the table, quivering with thrill and fear and yearning, begging for Aziraphale’s domination. His hips rocked lightly at the thought, pushing himself against the demon lewdly.

Crowley'd been hoping for a command, for something he could do to please the other - but Aziraphale was bending him back, and it only took half a second for the demon to recognize his intention. He resisted for a moment with the realization that it was all about to get much worse - but he'd already told him, whatever he wanted, and already denied him once. Leaning back, on display, the demon was again hyper-aware of their surroundings, and he inhaled deeply, closed his eyes behind the glasses for a moment of respite Aziraphale'd denied him.

He tried to focus on the sensation of Aziraphale's nails, but they weren't pressing in hard enough - Crowley suspected he already knew, and didn't ask for more. Still, he couldn't resist the want to arch into the touches, straining to worsen the pressure himself. The demon's blush spread over a majority of his form, never yet beginning to fade - all the shame and want and humiliation dusted over pale skin. Only the bruise, the vast dark expanse that still glistened damp upon his neck, was darker.

The demon tried to stay still, tried not to make more of a spectacle of himself - ironic, considering his incessant need to do so in private. Not that they weren't in private, but it didn't feel like they were - or at least some sinful mockery of it. He reached for the liquor automatically, was halfway through downing a swig just as Aziraphale's hands found him again, and the bottle slammed noisily back onto the table beside him, a bit of whiskey dribbling down his chin. "Fuck, I - hn," he recalled the angel commenting that he talked to much, cut himself off with a sharp breath.

Thin legs wound their way around Aziraphale's waist, trying to coax him nearer, to compensate for the restraint the demon himself was showing, hips only occasionally twitching forward beneath the other's skilled hands. His eyes were open again, resting on the angel - though now there was distance between them, they still flit up occasionally, watching as others milled by, as if they didn't exist, as if the table currently digging into his hips didn't exist, as if he weren't there in the open writhing in blissful agony, putty in his angel's hands.

His hands worked deftly, finding the rhythm that suited his lover best, neither rushing nor prolonging his absolution. All the while, Aziraphale’s hips rocked slowly, gently, as if taunting the demon with the cloth separating them. He offered no kisses, no reprieve from his gaze, which chilled with its peremptory perception; Crowley was entirely vulnerable, at the angel’s whim. The people surrounding them were also under Aziraphale’s capricious control- which had the potential to falter whenever he so chose.

He relished the sight before him and noted how enticing his lover’s blush became; it did nothing but encourage the wickedness and lust which so thoroughly gripped his being. His hands never ceased, assaulting the demon’s senses with patient, attentive devotion. The skill itself was masterful, and there was artful beauty in the view of Aziraphale doing it- as if nothing mattered at all in the world, his gaze fixated intensely on Crowley, his attention lavished solely on his cock.

“Do you want to come for me, love? Tell me that’s what you want.” the angel commanded, with no intention of allowing it fruition. He continued to pleasure his lover, watching closely for the signs- the tensing of muscles, the arching of his spine, the ecstasy on his face- and when they appeared, he stayed his hands abruptly.

He gave Crowley a moment to accept his disbelief, to wallow in the frustration, to become desperate with urgency. When he spoke, his voice was velvet- a silken richness to it that seemed to tremble in the air between them. “Mm- you poor dear; just aching for release, aren’t you? Pity you don’t deserve it yet.” He slid his hands to grasp the demon’s hips firmly, leaning forward slightly, careful to stay far enough away so that Crowley still relied on the table’s support. “Tell me how you’ll earn it, love.”

Crowley - supported by his elbows, watching Aziraphale, struggling not to watch anyone else - was rather quickly finding himself overwhelmed. His nails scraped fruitlessly at the surface beneath him, and as Aziraphale questioned him he found himself shaking his head - it wasn't, not really, he couldn't have cared less about coming for him - it was supposed to be the other way around, wasn't it? He lost the train of thought as it bled with all the others, as he watched another server drift past somewhere out of focus.

Aziraphale continued to stroke him and as time went on Crowley sank further to the table - further still, until he was practically lying against the surface - the odd position lending an overflexible arc to his form. He draped an arm across his mouth, one hand reaching to curl fingers over the side of the table - every muscle in his body was already tense, which seemed impossible considering the way his body curled and writhed upon the smooth surface, the pleasure he wouldn't verbally express all too visible in every twitch and shiver.

It took a long time for the demon to near the point of no return, persistently halted with every reminder of where they were, of what was happening, but still he crept ever closer, the warmth soon swallowing any doubt when suddenly, it stopped. The demon was gazing at the ceiling, his chest heaving slowly, the table cool against his shoulders even through the thicker material of his shirt. He was fairly certain he'd settled in a puddle of whiskey, but it was irrelevant now because Aziraphale's words were finally sinking in. --you don't deserve it yet; tell me how you'll earn it, love. His brow furrowed, as if he were trying to piece the words together where they belonged - or maybe trying to articulate all the ways he could do just that.

It took him far too long to answer. "Doesn't matter, just - however you want, tell me - can't think like this." Couldn't think. Couldn't speak, not that he could manage that articulately at the best of times. He tried to coax Aziraphale closer with his legs, desperate for something even if it came in the form of a reprimand, the absence of the angel's touch weighing on him above any other sensation, constricting his chest.

Aziraphale’s gaze never faltered, drinking in the view as if it were a scenic escape. He slowly finished unbuttoning his shirt, taking his time, giving the demon a moment to squirm. “Maybe you can’t please me after all,” he reprimanded, “that’s too bad.” He leaned forward again, fully, and firmly cupped the demon’s cheek while claiming a messy, fervent kiss; lingering, blessing his lover with his touch.

When he leaned into his chair, he pulled the demon with him, their bodies pressed together tightly- flesh meeting flesh. Aziraphale kissed his neck, fixing to bruise the other side, slowly rolling his hips all the while. “You’ve disappointed me twice now, dear.” His nails dug into Crowley’s thighs, for no reason other than to cause pain.

“On your knees, then.” He demanded, sliding Crowley off of his lap one leg at a time, until he was standing before the angel. “Last chance to get it right.”

"I can," the demon breathed against his lips, the moment those words had left Aziraphale's mouth, just before the other kissed him and he almost forgot to enjoy it because he was insisting, "I can but you have to tell me how," the demon could please him all sorts of ways - but he didn't know which the angel wanted, which might have him punished - and Aziraphale knew too well how to punish him.

The welling panic seemed to break all at once when Aziraphale drew him back up, and for a brief moment the demon's form slackened, curling close against his. Aziraphale spent a moment addressing his neck and the demon took full advantage, intent on winding his arms up and around the angel by way of splayed fingers running firmly up his back, on twining fingers through his hair, the matched roll of his hips, on granting Aziraphale his full attention once more, as if every groan and mewl he'd been denied had been saved and stitched into those touches. "Sorry, I'm - nh," the angel blessed him with the bite of his nails and Crowley groaned quietly beside his ear.

He registered the command - one he knew how to follow, and the demon withdrew himself despite wanting nothing more than to stay wound against him. He dropped easily to his knees before Aziraphale, the proximity granting him better focus, less self consciousness. Crowley's hands lifted to rest at Aziraphale's knees, worrying lightly at the fabric, starting a slow creep up his thighs. "If I do well, can I make you come? Like this." Here, in the middle of it all, because it was easy like this when he didn't have eyes on half the vicinity.

“If you do well…” the angel repeated, thinking it over, as wickedness darkened his visage with its cruel fantasies. The servitude was a pleasure in itself; it was impossibly arousing, watching the demon beg for his cock, beg for his seed to spill into his throat. “I will consider it.”

He smiled, holding the demon’s chin between thumb and forefinger, a gesture that would be tender if it weren’t for the air of authority which accompanied it. “You do know that to do well, dear, you’ll have to come for me.” He leaned down, stealing a kiss before Crowley could think about his words. “You’ll have to come for me, and you’ll have to scream.”

He slid his hand from the demon’s chin, to grip his hair, forcing his face close. “If you can’t please me, love, you can’t serve me.” He relinquished his grip and leaned back, sprawling about his chair as if it were a throne.

Crowley's fingers were coiling into fabric at the hopeful beginnings of Aziraphale's musing, dragging the material down, though he seemed to think better of it as the other went on and leaned in between his thighs. He hesitated for a moment as Aziraphale continued - and as the angel met his lips in that kiss Crowley barely returned it, mortified anew at the numerous ways Aziraphale could make him come.

The angel brought up screaming again, and Crowley's features tensed for a moment - a sort of spiritual wilting at the realization he wasn't going to please him after all. He'd try regardless, more than willing to give his angel what he could.

The demon laved a hot tongue over the fabric still separating him from his angel's arousal, purposely allowing his spit to dampen the material, letting his teeth drag lightly. He wasn't watching Aziraphale anymore, had his eyes lidded closed because he was focused on nothing but the angel's pleasure. Thin fingers slid up to coil beneath the angel's waistband, tugged his pants firmly down. The moment Aziraphale's cock was free, Crowley gripped it in one hand, mouthing his way slowly up the underside. Upon reaching the crown, the demon flicked his tongue teasingly against his frenulum before meeting the same spot in a suckling kiss, gradually worsening the pressure before lessening it all at once. When he withdrew, two halves of a forked tongue parted to bracket the head of his arousal, alternated briefly in idle rolls against skin, the entire process plainly visible up until the point Crowley drew him deep into his mouth.

His free hand set on the floor, the demon literally on hand and knee before him, serpentine tongue winding ceaselessly along whatever it could reach every time Crowley withdrew himself, sinking further back onto his cock with every movement, visibly (tangibly) gagging around him though his pace only continued to increase. His hand smeared through the spittle dripping around the base of Aziraphale's arousal, kneaded momentarily at sensitive skin before his hand shoved itself lower, slick fingers teasing his entrance. He slid one finger into him, withdrew it, and the second time it was two. He began to fuck him pointedly with every bob of his head, digits curled to angle toward his prostate, doing all he could to assure the angel might lack the will to stop him.

Aziraphale watched the sight before him, unable to tear his eyes away for even a moment. Nothing could have been more pleasing than seeing his lover grovel before him, intent on worshiping every inch of his cock more thoroughly than it had ever been worshipped before. Only a short time had passed before the angel’s hips bucked in tandem with Crowley’s mouth and fingers; unbidden and reflexive, the angel having no way of stopping himself.

The pleasure was excruciating and he dug the nails of one hand into his inner thigh, droplets of blood lazing down and tickling his skin, the pain offering to ground him- but it was fleeting, and soon the pain only gave way to further pleasure, the contrast between the two a means of depraved ecstasy.

His other hand found itself tangled in his companion’s locks, pulling more with each sloppy gag, as the pleasure threatened to overwhelm him, pooling hot in the pit of his stomach. Aziraphale attempted to silence his groans, but each tore from his throat more resounding than the last, until he was nearly shouting with each breath, thrusting himself deeper into Crowley’s throat, only to rock back and sink onto his curling fingers.

“Ah- fuck- fuck- fuck” he cried, the muscles of his abdomen tensing impossibly, cock pulsing within the demon’s generous mouth. It was part of his mantra, incoherent and pleading, wanting nothing more than to come, to fill the demon’s throat so unbearably and hear the accompanying chokes as he writhed in the ecstasy of release. His body shivered in pleasure, already rapidly edging, self-control decaying more with each passing moment until he was unsure if he’d be able to stop himself- unsure if he even wanted to stop.

“Mm, Crowley, you haven’t- ah- haven’t earned it”, but they both knew he had earned it, that each moment was a prayer, a devout veneration- but it wasn’t to a higher power, it was to Aziraphale-, and soon his salvation would be inevitable.

Crowley's eyes snapped open the moment Aziraphale's voice began to rise, and while he was still wearing his sunglasses, the gold glint of his eyes still captured Aziraphale's from that angle - held them as he continued to worship him, desperate to please, to give him all he could before the angel inevitably tore him away.

He didn't - hadn't, not yet, and for a moment the demon found himself wondering if he might actually prove successful. The sliver of hope encouraged him almost as much as the hand in his hair, as the sight of Aziraphale's nails digging into his thigh and the demon shoved at the angel's hand with his free one, sitting up slightly as his own nails rocked against the marks the angel had just inflicted upon himself, fingers smearing blood and spit along the pale backdrop of soft skin.

Aziraphale was talking, saying something, and the demon imagined he was telling him to stop but he didn't, if anything his actions edged into something hungrier, more desperate. He didn't dare slow to tease him, didn't dare stop to beg - his eyes did the job for him, please, angel, l couldn't do the rest so let me do this for you, and he rolled the damaged skin roughly between two fingers, pinching.

His face was streaked with tears and spit but the demon registered neither, registered none of his own need though it was more apparent with every movement, in every slight, expectant shudder and gratifying touch. Crowley finally withdrew but immediately took hold of the angel's cock, stroking him quickly with that hand as it constricted and loosened rhythmically around him, his head angling back as he tongued visibly over the head of his arousal again - welcoming, pleading to taste him, to taste everything and now there was an image to match, forked tongue cradling his cock expectantly. He didn't care if he'd earned it, what he earned, wanting nothing but to please his angel by whatever means he could, his fingers pressing in deeper, harder still.

The angel’s chest heaved visibly, sweat dancing on his skin, glistening in the light. He met the demon’s gaze, understanding the message contained therein, nodding in acquiescence, encouraging Crowley with pleading eyes.

Aziraphale’s hands gripped Crowley’s hair, fingers nearly interlaced, brushing against each other on the back of Crowley’s head. Had it come to pass moments earlier, it would have been to rip the demon’s mouth away, to still the pulsations that quivered through his cock as it threatened to erupt.

But it wasn’t moments earlier and it wasn’t to tear him away. It was to pull him closer. The angel’s brows knit together, his face enrapt with ecstasy. His eyes absorbed the sight before him- Crowley’s face dripping with spit and tears and reverence, his eyes begging to taste the reward he’d so thoroughly coaxed from Aziraphale’s trembling body.

His muscles rippled with tension, hands tightening their grip in his lover’s hair, forcing him closer still as Aziraphale looked on, full body heaving with every breath, hips beginning to quicken their rhythm. The pleasure in his gut churned, and the angel clenched his jaw in an attempt to stay its descent.

But, it was too late, and he was overcome, and it was impossible to stop as it eased through him, slow and powerful, built up so perfectly. The heat blossomed around the base of his cock as he sunk it deep into his lover’s throat. A low, guttural cry trapped itself as his head was thrown back, eyes rolling themselves to close. His body shuddered, the bliss intertwined with every aching muscle, fully overwhelmed by the sensations of Crowley’s lush mouth.

He couldn’t contain himself in any capacity, wings bursting against the chair behind him, cracking the wood with their vigor, while he moaned, throaty and ethereal- nearly dangerous in its divinity to those around him- the mortals all wincing visibly at the unknown power to pain them.

His hips jolted forward, internal quivers tightening himself around Crowley’s fingers, hands pulling the demon as close as possible, sinking his cock as far as it could go, choking his lover with its thick length. Aziraphale came, seed spilling hot and forceful, filling his lover’s mouth and throat, washing over his tongue, a prize hard-earned.

He slunk back in his chair although it threatened to splinter further, head canted to the Heavens, panting in the aftermath of such intensity, feeling tingles of numbness dance around his limbs. His cheeks burned with pleasure, nearly too much of it for Aziraphale to comprehend.

The demon loosed a low, rumbling groan around him as Aziraphale's fingers tightened in his hair, as the realization sank in that he'd get what he wanted after all - though he still half expected to be ripped away at any moment. He was unrelenting in his messy devourment, slightly more comfortable now in parting from him for the occasional lewd swipe of tongue, visible displays for Aziraphale ontop of the tangible.

When the angel did finally resume fucking his mouth in earnest, the demon was eager to abide, his hand roaming up Aziraphale's thigh, along his hip, over his abdomen - the touch soft in the face of so vulgar an act, adoring. Crowley could tell that he was close, could tell from the way his stomach quivered beneath his fingers, from the increasingly more desperate movements, the sounds drawn from his angel's throat. His angel, entire.

The sound of Aziraphale's wings unfurling begat splintering wood and somewhere a memory stirred, one the demon quickly fixated on drowning beneath the current of the angel's voice as it rang out around him, not even considering the mortals in their presence.

Crowley didn't know if he'd earned such a reward, didn't think so, but it was the last thing he'd do to protest and he growled around the other's length as it choked him anew, tongue still coiling roughly against him even as he felt the telling warmth at the back of his throat, which spasmed convulsively around him in his effort to coax forth every drop, to devour him completely.

He continued to lap at him almost gingerly in the moments following, teasing overstimulated flesh with the warmth of his own gasping breaths, with fleeting flickers of tongue. The demon met Aziraphale's eyes again when he finally lifted his head, making a point of letting him see the glistening evidence of his release as it dribbled from the corner of his mouth - promptly caught by a finger and licked clean as if he were truly savoring the taste - not a drop escaped him. "Mn." His head canted to rest against Aziraphale's thigh as he gently withdrew his fingers from him, lips blindly grazing the self-inflicted scratches, which immediately began to mend beneath the touch.

Aziraphale guided the demon to sit in his lap, his breath still labored, and he pressed their foreheads together in a moment of tenderness. An idle thumb drew itself across his lover’s lips, devout and grateful, and the angel kissed his cheek gently. It was wordless, their mingling pulse and breath the only music between them.

Aziraphale only needed a few minutes, and he’d spend them in quiet reverence; running his fingers through Crowley’s sweat-dampened locks, kissing his neck, tasting himself on his tongue, lavishing him with the adoration the demon so desperately craved. He took advantage of his lover’s want for gentle comfort, liberally indulged him of it, giving him all that he desired and then giving him even more.

His composure regained itself slowly, and with it, his intrepid will. His gentle caresses gradually increased in strength, until his touch was firm and unyielding. The angel’s soft kisses turned into lewd swipes of his tongue, further evolving into sucks and bites against the non-bruised side of Crowley’s neck.

He wrapped his arms around the demon, standing with him in his arms as if he were his newlywed bride, crossing the threshold; lifting his weight as if it were effortless. With a slight wave of his fingers, everything flung from their table, crashing against the floor loudly, glasses and plates shattering, silverware clanging echoes around them. No one noticed, no one cared.

Gingerly Aziraphale placed his lover atop the table, tenderness to the motion that seemed loving despite its context. A reassuring hand cupped Crowley’s cheek, and the angel leaned forward, claiming a passionate and adoring kiss.

While his companion’s lips were distracted, mind confused with the combination of tenderness and violence, he yanked the demons jeans down to his mid-thigh. Then, he was pulling him towards himself and positioning the demon’s legs to both sling over the same shoulder, and it was happening so quickly, so certainly.

He didn’t wait for protests or permission. Aziraphale suckled and spat against his fingers, shoving two roughly inside of his lover without warning. His gaze was unwavering, blue coolness boring into golden shame, daring his companion to dispute his will.

The red which tinged Crowley's skin was a product of satisfaction by now, rather than shame - no longer quite so violent in its hue. He was content to settle himself in the angel's lap - lounging against him as if he'd already sated his own desires. There was no expectation, no demand; he simply soaked up the affection as it was given, breathlessly resting his forehead to Aziraphale's.

The demon's eyes were distant behind his glasses, though not unpleasantly so - he was comfortable in Aziraphale's hands, thoughts quieted, worries seemingly insignificant in the shadow of the angel's love. His hands roamed the other's form idly, delighting in his warmth, the comforting familiarity of him.

It wasn't until Aziraphale's touches grew more insistent the demon's eyes began to focus. His chest heaved in a single, drawn inhalation as his hands stilled against Aziraphale's back - carefully avoiding the scar, even in his mental absence. He opened his mouth as if to speak, only for the sound of the first word to die on his tongue, transforming into a mild sound of surprise as the angel lifted him. He clutched at him, thoroughly jarred from his newfound peace between shattering dishes and the sight of other patrons, still peacefully enjoying their meals. "Aziraphale, I can't -"

His back landed flat on the table and Crowley practically shivered at the sensation of his shirt pressing between his shoulder blades, still coolly damp with whiskey. The angel kissed him, and it halted his protests - momentarily. There was a low sound of displeasure at his sudden exposure, and by the time the contact was broken the demon had reddened again, discomfort painted on his skin.

Aziraphale's fingers pushed into him and Crowley wasn't even looking to see that challenge in the angel's eyes - he was too focused on muffling the sounds that wanted to escape him, on trying to form words around them - all failed. One hand darted up to twist into the fabric of Aziraphale's shirt, white-knuckled, and he used that hold to try to drag the angel close - not that it would work just then, his legs hooked over a shoulder as they were, but at the very least it made his intention clear. It took every ounce of his willpower not to scramble out of that position - willpower that was rapidly waning despite the pleasure that almost certainly awaited him if he could just listen.

The angel indulged him of comfort, fingers maintaining their rough rhythm as he all but bent the demon in half, claiming a sloppy kiss. “Shh,” a whisper, soothing and low, tickling the demon’s ear. “I’ve got you, love”.

His free hand covered Crowley’s mouth, silencing words that hadn’t been voiced, an unneeded promise to his lover that no one would hear him. “Focus on me; it’s just us. Only us”. It wasn’t, not physically. People dined and conversed around them- but they were oblivious, fully unaware of the two and their indecent actions.

He kissed Crowley’s cheek, tender despite his roughness elsewhere, a gesture undeniably loving even with the hand clamped firmly over his mouth. “You’re going to feel so very good- and no one else is going to know.”

Aziraphale continued to voice soothing words, placing tender kisses along the demon’s body, gentle and comforting, never ceasing his fingers which wriggled and curled salaciously inside of him. The exquisite contrast between his actions polarized the pleasure, though Aziraphale placed greater emphasis on dissolving his lover’s panic with his placating words and touch.

Under any other circumstances, Crowley would've found it incredibly arousing - bent double in Aziraphale's grasp with a firm hand over his mouth. It wasn't that he didn't now - but it was too arousing, in too unfamiliar a place, with too many people, and too unexpected. Beyond that, he hadn't actually earned further attention - didn't feel like he deserved it. The demon inhaled deeply, exhaled against Aziraphale's palm, and then he shook his head, groaning softly into his hand.

He tried to obey, to do as he was told and focus on the angel looming over him - but every time someone else entered his field of vision it proved jarring all over again, and he couldn't stop his eyes following. Eventually, he solved the problem by closing them entirely - trying instead to focus on the continued affections, the fingers curling deep within him, drawing further quiet purrs to rise from his throat.

Somewhere in the kitchen a dish clattered, and Crowley jolted slightly - groaned. This time, it was pure frustration. The demon brought a hand to Aziraphale's, roughly tugged it from his mouth - "hurt me," he demanded. "Nails. Somethi--ngh. Please." If he couldn't actively distract himself lavishing Aziraphale with attention, he needed something else. He didn't realize he was still clutching his hand, vice-like.

’Hurt me’

The angel faltered momentarily, taken aback by the words, uncertainty flickering in his eyes- but it was gone as quickly as it came. It aroused him as much as it provoked his anxiety, and his rhythm slowed as he considered the weight of those words. He could try, if that’s what Crowley wanted, but, despite the anger motivating his actions, there was a limit he was unwilling to exceed.

After his brief daze, he regained his composure, but his eyes contained a sliver of his worry as he first kissed Crowley with trembling passionate lips, fingers stilling during this short respite. The hand that restrained his lover’s mouth was gripped tightly, and Aziraphale did something he’d never before considered- and perhaps never would again.

There was a ripple of electricity in the air, hanging upon them heavily, the current jolting through the angel’s body, finding its escape through the demon’s hand. It was a weak current, but there nonetheless, shocking Crowley’s hand as if he’d touched an electrified fence.

With his hand freed, he wrapped it around the demon’s throat, squeezing hard enough to redden his lover’s face with the strain of laborious breaths. A ring appeared; snug against the base of Crowley’s cock, constricting his arousal to blunt his release; the cold metal a shock to warm skin.

Aziraphale’s fingers quickened once more, finding his previous rhythm, preparing his lover for what was yet to come. He claimed another kiss, tongue fervid with the passion of violence and anxieties of love.

Crowley's expected a slap. A bite. Those scratches Aziraphale liked to inflict so much - just something to serve as a distraction from the surroundings he couldn't seem to settle into. The angel kissed him, and the demon could sense the other's uncertainty even through his own - probably recognized Aziraphale's better. He met him with certainty, his own brand of assurance in what little room he had to give it - he knew what he was asking for.

Then Crowley froze - his body rigid as he felt the familiar static weight in the air. It didn't occur to him for even half a second that it might be Aziraphale; almost immediately he began to withdraw, as if he were going to move to sit up but he didn't make it past the point of lifting his chest before that power coursed into his hand. Realization hit him in an instant and the demon - disregarding how utterly reckless it all was - loosed a throaty groan. Much better than nails.

He looked on Aziraphale, wide-eyed, the yellow of his eyes visible even through those dark lenses - not entirely unlike the look he'd had on his face the first time they met as angel and demon, back when he'd actually expected an assault. The angel's hands wrapped around his throat, and Crowley automatically coiled his own arms back behind his head - wrists hanging delicately, crossed, off the opposite edge of the table as he stretched himself impossibly beneath him. The demon had clearly enjoyed that particular brand of pain - perhaps a little too much. Still, it had him groaning through those sharper breaths, had him beginning to rock his hips slightly, not quite shameless but far closer to it when he felt the cold metal ensnare him.

When Aziraphale claimed another kiss, that hand still taut over his pulse, the demon's movements continued to intensify. This time the angel had his full attention, Crowley's serpentine tongue bracketing his, teasing in familiar coaxing flicks and curls. He nipped sharply at the other's lower lip, canted his head back to draw it between his teeth, tugging without letting go. The leg nearer Aziraphale's arm began to drift down it as the demon almost casually parted his thighs, hooking his knee over the crook of the angel's elbow. He was certain he'd be corrected in short order, but it allowed him the chance to finally appreciate the fingers fucking him so attentively, making his own desire all the more apparent. He'd been prepared to ignore it entirely - impossible, now, with the lingering thrum of pain that seemed to pulse through his veins with every hammered beat of his heart.

Any anxiety the angel had melted away at Crowley’s favorable response. A moan of unexpected pleasure ripped itself from his throat, louder than he would have liked, but he didn’t stop, didn’t try to contain himself. The demon parted his thighs but he didn’t care- there was no punishment to be given, only pleasure. Delicious, painful, agonizing pleasure.

Aziraphale withdrew his fingers temporarily, fumbling with his pants and underclothes until they fell around his ankles. A bottle of lubricant appeared in his hand, warming, and he squeezed it liberally along his length, already swollen again with want. He tossed the bottle behind himself, and it splattered against the ground carelessly.

The angel smeared the oil with slow strokes, observing that he was already tingling with its heat, and teased Crowley’s entrance with his cock- but he didn’t push himself into his lover. Not yet.

His fingers made their way back inside, fucking him better than fingers ought to be able to, waiting for the pleasure to build before taking it abruptly away. He continued to choke Crowley all the while, enjoying the music of his ragged breaths and the taste of his desperate tongue. He repeated the process, again and again- however many times it would take- waiting to hear Crowley beg, to hear his voice rasped with restricted breath.

Crowley loosed something of a growl when Aziraphale teased him so only to draw away, his entire form curving toward him, enticing him. The movements rippled through him as a slow wave, the first of it felt as his heel pressed into the angel's back for purchase, foot notched pointedly beneath a wing. It travelled then up his legs, to his hips which arched in expectation, snaked to meet Aziraphale's probing fingers. His abdomen lifted off the table, shoulder blades pressed into it - shirt hanging pooled beneath him as his thin frame arched above, anchored to the table by the throat.

He still wasn't as vocal as he might've been usually, though at this point it couldn't be said whether it was the same trepidation or the hand anchoring him that slowed his usual barrage of coaxing temptations, nothing more than groans and the stifled breath that carried them sounding between ravenous kisses. The demon's arms stretched further behind him, dragging pale skin taut over bone, and Crowley made a show of trying to spread his thighs further - restricted by coarse denim that he made a point of rubbing against the other's exposed skin.

It wouldn't be a short process - the demon was stubborn and thoroughly lost in the pleasurable sensations, in every straining breath, growing sharper every time Aziraphale dragged him to that edge only to yank him right back from it. Soon those breaths were punctuated by quiet groans, low murmurs of what might've been his name. There were no actual words, just exhalations of pleasure growing more unhinged with every cruel denial, the knowledge of the restrictive band around his cock only worsening the tension.

Someone moved past the table, near enough they risked brushing Crowley's hands hanging over the edge. They didn't, and it didn't seem Crowley would've noticed - would've cared - if they had.

Aziraphale brought him close again and Crowley's body shuddered upward in desperation, the spreading warmth stifled all at once as if it were ripped from his body when the angel stopped. "Aziraphale," he panted against his mouth, knowing what his angel was waiting for, unable to stand the thought of that pleasure torn from him again. "Fuck me. I need you - mm - fuck me, please." It wasn't a scream, but it was nearly as good.

Aziraphale gave his lover a final lingering kiss, his own breath rasp with want, eyes glittering at the prospect of hearing a scream at long last. The angel kissed and licked along the demon’s body, sucking a bruise on a hipbone as he trailed past. Crowley’s arousal went unattended; save for a sloppy tongue down its length, just once, just to remind Crowley of its ache.

He regretfully released the demon’s throat and repositioned the demon’s legs so that each was angled against a shoulder. Aziraphale slid his lover’s body down, just enough for his hips to trail off the edge of the table. He withdrew his fingers, teasing his entrance, and pushed himself inside excruciatingly slowly, watching the luscious scene with eager eyes. “Mmm” he moaned, prolonging the word, voice deep and rich, resounding delightfully in his throat, as his head was lolled back in rapture.

His nails dug themselves into Crowley’s hips, using them as leverage, thrusting his cock inside so thoroughly that each iteration moved his lover along the table, and brought a grunt of pleasurable exertion from his lips. He blessed the ring around Crowley’s arousal- enough to cause a mild, pleasantly painful sting- unwilling to let the pain lapse, in fear the demon’s mind would wander away.

Already, he missed the presence of Aziraphale's tongue against his own. He tried to fill the void its absence left behind gazing down at him, taking in the sight of him creeping down his body, tasting, sucking marks into his flesh. When the angel's tongue laved over him Crowley shivered, a pleasantly frustrated groan escaping parted lips.

He claimed a sharp breath when the hand finally left his neck and canted his head back, stretching, savoring the sensation of feeling flooding back into the space the angel's palm had occupied, the dull ache from the pressure. It was enough to keep him occupied until Aziraphale began to push into him - at which point Crowley angled his own hips upward, more fluid than usual in the odd but increasingly pleasant position. The angel's groan sent goosebumps prickling over his skin.

Crowley was panting already - the breaths draped in low groans and purrs. One hand had shifted from the table's edge, that arm now curled beside him for leverage's sake - not quite using it to prop himself up but angling himself to drive down even harder upon Aziraphale's cock. "Angel - nn - please," still pleading, for what he didn't know, and neither would the angel because the next thing out of his mouth was a shuddering groan, the demon's head lolling back. It was a reaction to that blessing, to the persistent sting as it sparked to life, his hips shuddering downward as if in effort to part from it.

"Ah - fuck - you didn't," vaguely astonished, Crowley lifted his head again as the other arm slid to mirror the first - this time pushing his body up more substantially, and he ground down on the angel's cock as hard as he could, writhing against him, muscles clenched and quivering.

Aziraphale voiced his satisfaction with incoherent groans, the demon’s movements enhancing the pleasure tenfold, grinding against him in tandem with his own rapid thrusts. His grunts became more primal, tinged with the agonizing bliss that threatened to devour him, more with each movement, until the blood pooled around his nails gripped into the demon’s flesh.

He couldn’t look away, savoring every inch of the demon’s body, marred with bruises and scratches of his own doing. The need to possess him became greater with every moment, every thrust, every moan uttered from Crowley’s lips. His brows knit together, the rapture reddening his cheeks, painting itself shamelessly onto his face. Aziraphale found himself meeting his lover’s gaze with equal, desperate pleading in his eyes.

“Touch yourself,” he ordered, wanting to drink in the sight of Crowley pleasuring himself, knowing it was to the view of the angel fucking him, filling him so incredibly like none other before. Wanting to know, desperately, that it was for him, by his command, that the demon was bound by Aziraphale’s every desire. “I need to see you come for me- ah- need to feel you come for me”. His thrusts became more desperate, more bestial, the grunts all the more guttural as Crowley stretched and quivered around him impossibly, perfectly, eliciting a pleasure greater than any other.

“Scream for me, love- Mmn- scream for me” he gasped, in between panting breaths, already feeling the pleasure pool into the pit of his stomach. He didn’t slow- the ecstasy entirely overwhelming him, still sensitive from the demon’s gifted mouth- but he endured, precariously contained by sheer will alone, knowing his composure would unravel as soon as the demon followed his commands.

Automatically, one of Crowley's hands drifted to rest between his thighs where he took his own cock in a firm hold, squeezing. His shoulders rested back to the table, no longer supporting his own weight in any capacity as the rhythm of his hips purposefully countered Aziraphale's. He kept his eyes trained on the angel - when he could keep them open - as he fucked his own hand, eager to watch him react.

"Thought I didn't earn it - ah - didn't deserve it, I really - fuck, Aziraphale - I really don't - ngh," it wasn't stopping him from doing as he was told, fingers fanning over the head of his arousal, slick with need, aching yet blunted all the same by that ring which stung so perfectly, pain wrapped in a pleasure so intense it made his form shiver as it built.

"Please, I can't, I told you I -" Crowley drew a shuddering gasp, impossibly close, his hand slowing, muscles clenched as he teetered there on the precipice, denying himself just enough that his body reacted on its own, twitching, shuddering with every touch, every nerve in his body screaming for release where he couldn't. "I - Aziraphale, can I, please," his hips jerked upward and stayed there, quivering as he rubbed two fingers, slowly but continuously around the crown of his erection, a low whine escaping his throat.

“Only if you-” Aziraphale shuddered, almost losing himself in the sight of his lover, begging for release, aching and obeying so thoroughly. The demon’s body quivered around his cock, beckoning him to give in to the ecstasy, to find salvation so very deep within.

“scream for me- ah” He threw his head back, rhythm a steady, insatiable pace, shivers running down his body, the blunt of his release so painful, nearing impossible. “Please, love- mn- please,” Aziraphale could hardly control himself, throaty moans punctuating his words, rasp with need, little more than begs.

“Ah, love, please- mm- Scream for me- and come for me-” The angel’s eyes rolled back as his hips faltered momentarily, his climax so inevitably close, denying it with his entire being. His wings beat uselessly against the air, as if they would stay the inevitable release, and his jaw clenched, every muscle in his body tensing, shaking with his efforts, hanging on his lover’s every breath, every roll of his hips, every internal quake which threatened his resolve..

Crowley shook his head, almost violently - a frustrated denial as he continued to tease himself, desperately trying to stay the pleasure until he could bring himself to obey him fully - but it had been so long already and he was so close.

He didn't dare move his hips, but Aziraphale's did the job for him, and Crowley cursed under his breath as he made contact that was just a bit too substantial, rocking into his own palm. The demon couldn't stop himself, thin fingers immediately finding their way back around his own cock as he began to move again, driving perversely against his own fist.

Every undulation brought another coarse grunt, all gravel, animalistic "Fuck - I can't - 'm sorry, I can't - ah - shit," the demon's heels dug hard into Aziraphale's back, his entire upper body curling off the table beneath him as the first, subtle throb of satisfaction ran through his frame.

He clenched every muscle, a last ditch effort at the staying himself once more, but it was already too late, and he couldn't stop moving, still stroking himself roughly as he came, his own release striping his abdomen, dribbling down his hand as he continued to shudder against it.

“Ah- fuck- yes” Aziraphale watched intensely as the pleasure ran through Crowley’s body, as the come flooded his abdomen and fingers, as he shuddered impossibly, lithe frame curling in ecstatic rapture. “-fuck- mm- yes, love, yes-”

The sight was more pleasing than any other, his hips thrusting even deeper, reflexively prolonging his lover’s enjoyment, wanting to see him writhe forever. “I’m- mn- going to-” His voice broke with the ardor of his efforts, no longer any need to stay his own pleasure, doing so to draw out the contact which was the only thing to ever exist, the edges of his vision fading, eyes focused solely on the demon thrashing before him.

Crowley’s inner quivers wrapped around his cock, tightening hopelessly around him, pulling him deeper, nearly restricting his movements with their grip; and he fucked him, harder, fucking him like he’d never get another chance; sinking his cock unbearably deep, as it convulsed with desperate, intolerable need.

He descended upon him, folding his flexible frame with ease, feeling the come wet his own skin, tormenting him further with its heat. Aziraphale kissed his lover, lips trembling, their union aggressive and sloppy and perfect.

The angel moaned into his mouth, the ecstasy no longer tolerable, uncontrollable as it shivered through his body. His hips jolted, Aziraphale breaking their kiss as he shook with pleasure, gasping at the intensity of its sensation, coming hard, face twisted with ecstasy. He clawed at Crowley’s skin- whatever he could reach- as he trembled in absolution, groaning loudly and incoherently.

After a few more forceful thrusts, the angel stilled, nearly collapsing on top of his lover as his chest heaved with need for breath. His curls were limp with sweat, cheeks flushed with the absurd amount of pleasure he’d endured. He could do nothing other than bask in the aftermath, the tranquility which overcame his entire being, head resting on Crowley’s chest, bowed as if in prayer.

Crowley still shuddered, still jolted with every touch and movement, skin oversensitive and still agitated by the sting of metal, the buzz of Divine energy where there should've been none, a thought that had him groaning all over again, ragged. His hand still fumbled shakily over his own arousal, urging hisses of breath and those delicious spasms which continued to engulf Aziraphale, continued to coax him toward that fast-approaching limit.

The demon's back arched impossibly as his angel's nails dug in, hips straining against them, straining to rock into him, to grant him absolution in the only way someone wretched as he knew how. Aziraphale's lips sought his and Crowley practically keened into the contact, and when that kiss was broken, when he felt the first waves of climax wash over him, the perfect heat so deep within, he sucked Aziraphale's lower lip into his mouth, teasing lasciviously with that sinful tongue, free hand coiling at his nape to prevent him withdrawing by a clawing hold.

Long after the other's form slackened atop him Crowley, too went limp - one leg dropping heavily from Aziraphale's shoulder to wind around his waist, preventing him withdrawing just a while longer, his own hips still twitching incessantly, simultaneously chasing and trying to escape the pain of the angel's blessing. He panted against the top of his head, each breath still ferrying low, appreciative groans and gasps of satisfaction, of Aziraphale's name.


	5. And Reverse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 11 of "The Really Big One"

Crowley'd drained the wine in record time, refilled as much as he could manage to drain it again. Even small feats were becoming more difficult, he observed, taking a moment to glare at the bottle. It was a problem - one he'd have to fix in short order, but he didn't have the will just then.

He glanced up as Aziraphale walked past, but said nothing. No longer sober, the notion that he'd done nothing wrong was more prominent than ever - and ever the stubborn fucker, he wasn't going to apologize. The demon swung his legs up onto the couch and continued to drink.

The wine diminished eventually, to a point he couldn't refill it, and he tossed the bottle haphazardly onto the floor. Aziraphale'd been gone for some time. He wanted to go out after him, to make sure he was safe, but his pride forbade him. Crowley rose from the couch, making his way to the small kitchen in the vague hope he'd be able to dig another bottle out of the cabinets. Maybe they kept it stocked. He rummaged for a while to no avail, narrowed eyes scouring for prospects - until they eventually settled on the table.

Two cups.

They must've had a nice catch-up.

He wondered what Michael had told him. What sort of interesting web she'd spun.

At least - he thought, in some far corner of his mind - at _least_ if Aziraphale was putting his faith in Heaven (Heaven and God were one in the same, to Crowley) he might not have to face Hell. It comforted him slightly - but mostly, it just twisted the knife that seemed to live in his gut.

He found no liquor - gave up after another unenthused glance around the room - and resigned himself to sprawling on the couch, waiting anxiously for Aziraphale's safe return.

Aziraphale wandered around, eventually finding the small road into town. Great Maplestead was a small, attractive village, with precisely one pub. Lucky for Aziraphale, it was open. He sat at the bar, sad and alone, and ordered a double whiskey. Several times, in fact.

To his delight, the pub served a small variety of country foods. When asked what he’d like to order, he simply told the waiter to ‘surprise him’. The waiter, assuming this lovely man had it in for a rough night, brought the finest comfort food Great Maplestead had to offer: Bangers and mash.

The townsfolk were as charming as the village. Aziraphale had a lovely chat with a rather interesting gentleman about theology. Proudly, Aziraphale had converted the atheist into an agnostic, and he felt a pleasant warmth tingling in the depths of his soul.

There was also a handsome young man who seemed to do everything in his power to stay close to the angel; every so often, offering a cigarette, or chiming into his conversation, recommending different types of food or drink. Aziraphale was enchanted with how friendly the humans were here.

When he was good and drunk, and thoroughly refreshed, he bid his farewell to new friends, and stumbled back to the cottage. His cheeks were rosy with alcohol and his grin reflected just how many double whiskeys he’d consumed. His hair and clothes were scented with a mixture of cigarettes and strangers’ cologne.

He entered the cottage happily, shutting the door quietly behind him- the lights were out, and he noticed it was quite late. He was, of course, feeling much more alive than earlier. The alcohol was buzzing joyfully in his system, protecting him from the distasteful events of the past few days.

Crowley couldn't even _sleep_. Every time he tried he recalled the stark realization - Aziraphale, cold on the floor and barely responsive. The anger was still there, but he'd nowhere to direct it but inward.

He felt as if he couldn't think clearly - suspected it was partially due to the fact that he'd done nothing to maintain his connection to Hell over the course of the past weeks. It wasn't as if he could just waltz through the door. Well... he could, but that would be a bigger risk than summoning Gabriel. He hadn't felt too inclined to do evil, and he most certainly wasn't going to ring anyone up and ask for an assignment.

The resulting mental fog made him irritable - more so than usual - quicker to anger, quicker to react, something more like the demon he was _supposed to be_. It was like a perpetual hangover he couldn't shake. It paired unfortunately with the real one which was slowly replacing his short-lived stupor.

The demon was still trying to register what'd happened. _Leaving it to God_. He found himself wishing the angel'd lied.

Crowley heard the door open, and idly turned his head to look - no defensiveness, no suspicion. Could've been Michael and he wouldn't have cared. Still, he relaxed when he saw Aziraphale - simply for the fact he'd made it back without incident.

"There's glass on the floor," he warned of the wine bottle, and draped an arm across his eyes.

There was a distinct _crunch_ underneath his shoe as Aziraphale navigated his way about the cottage in the darkness. “Found it!” he chimed with a drunken giggle, his voice particularly afflicted with an effeminate and musical intonation.

There were bumps and ‘oh my’s and ‘oh dear’s as he fumbled his way to the demon, and at one point something had fallen over. It sounded suspiciously like a chair, although the angel was nowhere near one.

He flopped on the couch next to the demon, doe-eyed and grinning happily. “Hello,” he smiled, gazing at the demon with devoted eyes, as if nothing terrible had happened that day, or any other day.

Crowley shut his eyes beneath his arm. He wasn't nearly drunk enough to level with Aziraphale in his current state - he could tell between the bumbling and the bar smell, which was almost overpowering even before he sat down.

There were so many things he could've said - wanted to say. So many things wrenched the wrong way in his spirit that he felt it might break at any moment. Aziraphale sounded like his usual self - a very drunk version, of course - happy and radiant in his light.

He inhaled deeply, exhaled, and made a conscious decision not to ruin it.

"Hi, angel."

As if 'terrible' didn't exist.

He let himself slide down, horizontally, until his head was resting in the demon’s lap. It was a somewhat obnoxious gesture, but he wanted to be closer. The day had been long and, somewhere in his subconscious mind, he knew it had been difficult. He wanted the comfort that only Crowley could provide.

“I missed you,” he admitted drunkenly, “Even though the pub was quite lovely, I wanted to come home and see you”. He had a bit of a pout, cutely tucked onto his bottom lip. He nuzzled himself closer, flashing an enamored smile up at the demon.

His hands wandered absentmindedly, and found themselves tracing around the buttons of Crowley’s shirt. Aziraphale took a deep breath, and any remaining tension his muscles carried had melted away.

“I _always_ miss you”, he sighed, dreamily.

Crowley finally drew the arm from across his eyes, sighing as he felt the angel settle into his lap. He peered down at him for a moment, blearily. Then he reached down and tangled the fingers of one hand into Aziraphale's hair, combing gently. Eventually he lowered the hand to cup his cheek for a moment, trying to brush that pout away with his thumb before he went back to stroking his hair.

"Tell me about the pub," he murmured, gaze softening as he watched him. Any of the sadness there, any of the anger was thoroughly buried, and all that remained was the usual hint of adoration that lingered whenever Aziraphale was present. It wasn't his fault. None of it was his fault - Crowley tried to remember that, to quell his own negativity.

"You weren't gone long enough to miss me -- besides, I'm sure you had more fun out there. Ran out of wine here ages ago," thus the mess on the floor. Crowley was hopeful the angel might take the hint and summon up some more - Satan knew he needed it.

His face lit up, practically throwing its own light into the darkness. He immediately chattered away, telling Crowley every single _excruciating_ detail about the pub. How the whiskey tasted, the bangers and mash, the atheist gentleman, the man with the cigarettes, and oh the humans were so friendly and so lovely and the walk was brusque but gorgeous… and… and…

Aziraphale relaxed into Crowley’s legs, contented and adored, enjoying the hands that were twirling his silvery blonde locks. His fingers had found their way to Crowley’s stomach now, after they’d undone a shirt button and slipped themselves under. Aziraphale’s conscious mind was not privy to their scandalous activities.

“There’s alcohol right there, love” he said, pointing to the coffee table. There were indeed several bottles of miracled wine. Not into existence, just into the living room from his bag. They were dry, tart reds; clearly not summoned for Aziraphale. One thing was absolutely certain: Crowley could have whatever he wanted.

Crowley listened to every excruciating detail, ever the masochist. He glared appropriately when Aziraphale spoke about the man with the cigarettes, and added a mental note to his list of _Potential Demonic Activity_.

He'd been dimly aware of Aziraphale's wandering hands from the moment they nudged at that first button, but now those warm fingers were set against skin and he inhaled sharply - an unintended reaction that left him holding his breath for a moment in the hope it would go unnoticed.

Aziraphale pointed out the alcohol and the demon's lips quirked. He reached carefully to snag one of the bottles by its neck, moving so as not to jar the angel from his position, and soon he was relaxing back into his seat with a hearty swig of wine. Absentmindedly, he traced the outer curve of the other's ear, traced downward to where the bruises had been the night before. Nothing but pale white, now.

He took another drink.

"I'll come with you next time. You can show me," it didn't much sound like Crowley's scene, but there'd been whiskey and food and it was better than the couch. Besides, there was nothing like a small town for drama - the people were always overly easy to rile.

The angel nodded happily. “It’d be absolutely delightful to show you, dear boy. Perhaps we can explore the village tomorrow?” He began chattering again, this time about the scenery, the farms, the architecture. His face was warm and flushed. It was a stark comparison to the Aziraphale from this morning- ashen, sodden, and lifeless. He was presently very animated, with a beaming smile and overly eager blue eyes. It was hard to imagine all the tears he’d cried just a few short hours prior. Hard to imagine the angel going through any type of tribulation whatsoever.

Aziraphale felt goosebumps rise, as the demon’s hands stroked the soft, delicate skin of his neck. For a brief, fleeting moment, he’d forgotten about the village, losing his place in their (very one sided) conversation. After a moment, he regained himself, and continued as if nothing was amiss.

His wayward hand found itself brushing against the waistband of Crowley’s pants, a fingertips breadth just underneath the barrier of fabric, caressing the warm, sensitive skin of his lower abdomen. The angel chatted happily all the while, ignorant to his own actions which were guided by a darker, more ambitious part of his mind.

"Dear boy?" Crowley scoffed. "We'll explore so long as you never call me that again. I've got to ruffle a few feathers, anyway," a polite way of saying he needed to make trouble. He'd rather avoid all the blood and ominous candles if he could.

Crowley wasn't entirely sure how the angel managed to do it. How he managed to make the seemingly easy transition from the broken spirit the demon'd spent all night guarding -- had probably broken further the next day. He winced to himself at the thought, and continued to manage his own impossible transition.

Aziraphale trailed off for a moment, and the demon tilted his head. He wasn't sure he'd ever heard his train of thought derail. He attempted to do it again, not even trying to feign innocence. His fingers trailed the same path, slightly curved this time to let nails catch the skin. They dug in lightly - unintentionally? - when the angel's fingers brushed beneath his waistband, lingering for a moment before continuing down to trace along the edge of his shirt collar.

He wasn't certain the angel even realized what he was doing. He imagined so, but he seemed quite invested in his story. Crowley couldn't help but play along.

Aziraphale once again lost his place in his detailed account of the village and surrounding area. It was brief, but more pronounced than the last interruption. The goose bumps had traveled all the way down his arm, causing the silvery hairs to stand on their ends. It gave him a slight chill, which cascaded down from his neck and shoulders, and he shuddered imperceptibly.

Before resuming his monologue, he glanced up at the demon and met his eyes. There was a brief flicker of _knowing_ in the angel’s gaze, accompanied by a darkening of the rosy flush on his soft cheeks. He became aware of the tension charging the air around them, like a thundercloud ready to burst.

There was a brief hesitation; his fingers trembled at the waistband of the demon’s pants, easing themselves higher, onto Crowley’s bare stomach, before they resumed their wayward wander. The touch was light, an exploratory feather against the demon’s abdominals.

He was slow to restart the conversation, and his voice was slightly strained until his breathing normalized. He repeated the last few things he’d mentioned prior, and seemed to have a great deal of difficulty regaining his concentration.

When the angel's words tapered off again, Crowley looked quite pleased with himself - as one often did when they discovered a new game they liked. The demon took another swig of wine, fingers trailing the fabric of that crisp white shirt until he'd taken the top button between thumb and forefinger, casually unfastening it.

His own breath came slow and even, a steady rise and fall beneath Aziraphale's fingertips. Crowley leaned back further, enough that his shoulders rested against the back of the couch, tempting the other with more room to explore. He knew he shouldn't - knew he had to stop, really, before anything went too far -- they'd gotten plenty of _signs_ they couldn't go too far, hadn't they?

But he was still pretending terrible didn't exist, still trying to bask in the moment.

"You already mentioned that," Crowley pointed out, helpfully. He was always happy to point out the rare occasion Aziraphale stumbled over his words, but now it came with the added benefit of pointing out just how flustered he was - indirectly, of course.

"Did you go anywhere else?"

“Y-yes, I suppose I did,” Aziraphale breathed, feeling his top button give way traitorously. Each was a domino, and there was a point at which it would be impossible to stop them all from tumbling in on each other. “So sorry,” he chuckled lightly, though it was mostly breath.

Slowly, their closeness oozed its way out of his subconscious mind, and squeezed into his waking thoughts. Aziraphale bit his lower lip, flattening his palm on the demon’s stomach as he gloriously outstretched his lithe, maddening frame. He brushed his hand across smooth skin and pointed bones, fingers splayed gratefully, and half-dragging his greedy, gripping fingertips.

His heart hammered violently in his chest, angry and expectant. He exhaled a trembling breath- a feeble attempt to conduct and harmonize both pulse and breath into a coherent rhythm. It didn’t work. It wasn’t even close to working.

“I-Well, I went to the… uh… pub…?” he stammered head tilting. Why did those words seem familiar?

Crowley's fingers continued downward, creeping along freshly exposed skin until the next button stopped them. This one he toyed with for a moment, taking the opportunity to splay the rest of his fingers against Aziraphale's chest beneath crisp fabric. He was so warm - the demon recalled the events of the morning, his chilled skin.

"A different pub?" he asked with feigned curiosity. Crowley's free hand lifted, lingered over the buttons of his own shirt. His eyes were drawn to Aziraphale's; he felt as if he couldn't look away, as if tethered by some divine power. The demon's eyes were half-lidded, hungry. "Or were you talking about the same one?"

He flicked the first button free, and after a momentary pause sent those fingers to cover Aziraphale's over his shirt, pressing them harder into his skin. "You can use your nails for that, angel," he tacked it on as casually, as if it were a coherent part of the conversation. Crowley was strangely relaxed - strangely more aggressive, but in a way he was finding he liked.

He liked watching his angel squirm.

“No, no…” the angel spoke, idly, distracted as if his mind were chewing on a complex calculation, and couldn’t be bothered to think of anything more mundane. His thoughts lagged as he became entranced by the predatory visage, feeling an exhilarating energy building inside of his chest.

The demon’s eyes were magnetic. He felt trapped in their gaze, like the serpent had purposefully hypnotized him. It seemed as if Aziraphale were prey. There was something he enjoyed about it, his mind slowly easing him into the pull of its temptation.

“It was the same pub” his words were languid, pulled out of the ether lazily, as if they had all the time in the world to be said.

“Same as before”, he whispered, terser this time, hungrily eyeing the button on the demon’s shirt, a sharp tense inhale as it was undone.

“But- I only went there, well, just the once, I mean”. He used his nails as if he’d been supernaturally commanded, moved by a will not his own. Mesmerized want began to build and it glittered in his pale blue eyes.

If Aziraphale were prey than Crowley was an apex predator who'd only just settled eyes on its meal, who stalked nearer and nearer, ravening.

He felt the angel's nails and arched beneath them, eyes blinking slowly shut. For a moment his hand moved with Aziraphale's, encouraging, willing him to fan the flames of want prickling their way across his skin. They'd reached his eyes by the time they reopened and Crowley plucked free the next button, making a point of smoothing the fabric open, exposing more of that pale skin.

He'd only had so many buttons fastened to begin with - between he and Aziraphale's continued efforts, there weren't many left. His chest and abdomen were exposed, the last button the only thing left barely supporting the taut bridge of fabric across his ribcage. He left it, watching Aziraphale expectantly as his opposite hand mirrored the action, slowly and purposefully working his way down the angel's shirt.

The demon was taking his time to feel every inch as it was exposed to him, lithe fingers tracing the curves of his ribs, down to his sides, mapping their way slowly across his abdomen from one to the other.

"Right, but - you never told me where else you went," it was just nonsense now, uttered without pause as if the conversation were still the height of the evening, and Crowley watched him, wolfish and expectant.

Aziraphale’s breath quickened, and he let himself become more and more exposed, the demon slowly felling the last remaining pieces of his self-control. His face was flushed, pink from alcohol and lust, and his eyes were watchful, waiting.

He eyed the remaining button, the bridge between two sides of cloth, and could resist it no longer. His fingers traced around it, hesitating before giving into the desire completely, and freed the cloth from its responsibilities. Aziraphale watched the fabric part with a diminutive whimper, frantic desire building within him.

He wanted to be preyed upon by the Serpent, to be consumed by lust, and to be hungrily devoured, coiled tightly is his grasp. His flesh shuddered beneath the demon’s touch, rippling with gratitude and yearning, tense with the anticipation of further stimulation.

“Somewhere else…? I don’t- I didn’t-I..” he was nearly breathless now. His eyes wandered along Crowley’s slender irresistible frame, and he bit his lower lip in reservation. His hands found themselves caressing the demon’s flesh cautiously. He savored the skin, sleek and warm, beneath his trembling, eager fingertips.

Aziraphale’s countenance betrayed his every wish, and his eyes pleaded for more. He was the prey; tantalized and captivated, unwilling and unable to resist.

Crowley's shirt fell open and he sighed at the satisfaction it gave him, flexed his shoulders slowly as if it'd been physically restraining him all this time. Mostly, the movement was for Aziraphale's sake, serpentine as skin stretched taut over muscle and bone.

He suspected he could manifest his own wine now.

The thought sparked shame in him - shame and a further sense of desire, and Crowley's tongue crept across his lower lip. He liked watching the angel give in to his desires, liked tempting him, _pushing_ him.

The hand on Aziraphale's stomach strayed dangerously low, the tips of his fingers nestling beneath the waist of his pants. He followed the curve of the fabric, smoothing in a firm arc from hip to hip. His thumb traced idle circles for a moment, nail rocking lightly into the skin before he withdrew the hand entirely. It came to rest upon the angel's clothed thigh; Crowley pressed his fingers in with near-bruising force, a sharp squeeze before he palmed his way down to Aziraphale's knee.

"You know we aren't supposed to do this," but he'd yet to stop.

A slight groan of desire erupted from his lips as the demon traced around his hips. He dug his nails into the demon’s ribs, overcome with want. He ached with longing, and fell into it, let it consume him. Its dark energy tore through him, made him mad, wavering his soul on the edge of wild lust.

He was all but panting now, his chest visibly heaving, breath laced with expectation. The excitement flowed through his body, burned into his mind, and he felt it stir below his belt. He yearned to move closer, to kiss the demon’s lips, bite and suck on the skin of his throat. But he mustn’t. He wanted to be caught, wanted to be devoured, to be ravaged.

“We can do _anything_ we want.” he coaxed, eyes begging the serpent to strike, to take all that he wanted and more.

"I'm still upset with you," but the words came in a way that suggested they wouldn't necessarily prove a deciding factor in how things proceeded - just that they_ might_. His breath hitched at the tail end of the statement, when Aziraphale's nails dug into his skin; he reacted more visually than was strictly necessary, head falling back to rest against the couch for a moment.

His hand moved to the other thigh, and Crowley all but shoved Aziraphale's leg against the back of the sofa, forcing his legs to part. "I don't know if it's the best time," as if he were still contemplating it, as if he wasn't dragging his hand lasciviously up his thigh, pausing every so often to knead at soft skin through the material, sometimes with force enough to mark.

He was coiled, ready, toying with his prey.

There was an amusement that danced with the desperate lust in Aziraphale’s eyes, and the corner of his mouth twitched- a shadow of a smile. It was a look that was only ever given in secret, to those lucky few who’d been delicious enough for the angel to bite. He, too, was poised for the hunt, not unlike a bird of prey, watchful and patient, should his aggressor discover a lack of courage in the intensity of the moment. This was a game that Aziraphale was all too happy to play… for now.

He bit his lower lip, stifling a moan, enjoying the hands on his thighs, aching for them. He met the demon’s eyes- his gaze wild with lust and frenzied passion and desperation, and a glimpse something darker, a hidden knowledge of their dance, a glimmer of _knowing_.

Breathily, he inquired, eyes glittering as if he was about to take the first bite of a long awaited dessert, “How can I change your mind?”

Aziraphale knew the rules of these games- when they’d started, they’d already been won.

"You'd have to make me forget about it," he murmured lowly, eyes flaring as he registered the shade of that same dark look in the other's. It sent an abrupt chill down his spine, one he basked in as it flared through his limbs, prickled out onto his skin in the form of risen goosebumps.

Crowley purposefully allowed his fingers to brush the front of the angel's trousers, as if it were an accidental touch on the way to address their button. He nudged it free, and for the first time his gaze left Aziraphale's, drank in the sight of his bare torso, tinged red with alcohol and desperation.

"There's always penance," the corner of his mouth ticked upward, wickedly. His fingers were worming their way beneath fabric, now, gently slipping under the band of his underwear, though offered no substantial touch to relieve him.

His breath came heavier now, and Crowley indulgently passed a hand down his own torso, fiery eyes flitting back to Aziraphale's. "Forty days, forty nights... I could just make you wait."

A gentle, tortured sigh escaped his lips, and he delighted in being at the mercy of the demon’s sensual cruelty. It was maddening, pushing him over the edge, and the frustrating tension was superb. He was possessed by the serpent’s eyes. He savored the look of hunger and power staring back at him, tempting him, daring him to take more.

“I could make you forget,” he said softly, partly a statement, more so an offering. Aziraphale raked his nails down the demon’s ribs, enjoying the temptation, relishing in it. Hips firmly in his grasp, as he edged himself closer, he brushed his lips against the demon’s lower stomach, testing his reaction.

“You could make me wait…” he sighed, breath trembling against the serpent’s skin. The angel let out a groan of pleasure and frustration, feeling the demon’s hands teasing, exploring. Aziraphale teased his tongue along the bone of Crowley’s hip, kissing the hollow upwards, back to his stomach, hungrily staring into his eyes all the while. “...but would you?”

Finally, the demon loosed a quiet groan - it escaped between clenched teeth, unbidden, at the feel of the angel's nails, the delightful warmth that bloomed in their wake alongside dark red marks.

There was another sharp inhalation, quiet, when Crowley registered the brush of Aziraphale's lips against his stomach. He flexed his hips slightly, an undeniably lewd gesture that curled through the rest of his form, tensely-wound and wanting.

"I should," he muttered, nails grazing the soft flesh beneath his navel. "You'd deserve it," he reasoned, as if he were trying to convince himself. But Crowley was a demon, first and foremost - not exactly a bastion of self control. "You should try to convince me, angel."

The words left him in a velvety purr, and Crowley unfastened the button on his own jeans, let his fingers delve beneath, pointed, as if it were an opportunity he was stealing from him.

The angel relished the power, the command. He wasted no time, self-control splintering away, and he swooped in like an eagle with its talons raised. He swung himself upright and grabbed the demon’s hands, as if in punishment.

“_Mine_,” he commanded testily into the demon’s ear, tossing Crowley’s hands aside with a force previously unknown to the demon. Aziraphale climbed onto his lap, straddling him, pinning Crowley to the back of the couch with his body. “_All mine_”.

The angel’s movements were aggressive- practiced. He teased the skin at his throat and neck, pleasantly painful at times, leaving dark purple bruises, and kissed his lips with a ravenous passion. He moaned in delicious pleasure as his tongue explored the demon’s mouth- fervid, hot, and wanting.

Aziraphale’s hands made their way down the demon’s body, slowly but firmly, slipping themselves between the fabric of his pants and underwear. He teased the demon through his clothes, rubbing gently, a contrasting sensation to his frenzied, forceful lips.

_All mine_,

That was all it took.

Aziraphale pinned his hands and the demon felt the last threads of his own self control, already frayed with six thousand years of covetous torment, burnt to ash beneath his angel's grasp.

The angel loomed above him, beautifully ferocious and _certain_, and Crowley groaned beneath the heat of his lips, the bite of his teeth and the luscious sensation of bruises sucked into pale skin, prominent even in the darkness of the room.

He might have been surprised by the display, might have been overcome by it, but he'd played it out in his head so many hundreds of times that by now it was just _inevitability_ and he relished in it, meeting Aziraphale's lips with an equally starved fervor, desperate to taste him, to consume him whole in the same fire which burned violently bright beneath his skin.

Crowley's hips rose shamelessly against Aziraphale's hands, a silent demand for _more_ but he didn't waste time waiting for acquiescence. The fingers of one hand buried themselves into Aziraphale's hair and he yanked his head back by whitened strands, lips smearing lewdly along his jaw, down his neck as the other hand tore at his shirt, threw it carelessly to the floor.

The same hand flattened to the small of Aziraphale's back and soon his fingers coiled half beneath the waistline of his pants, vicelike in their grip which dragged him nearer, hips waiting to meet him in an unhurried roll.

His lips scorched a heated trail over the other's skin, down over his collarbone, his chest. Crowley leaned forward and bent the angel back, eyes fogged in their salacious haze flitting up to meet Aziraphale's. His tongue passed, almost incidentally, over a nipple - warmth followed in short order by deliciously sharp pain as he worried risen skin between his teeth.

If he'd any inhibitions they had gone, fled him alongside rational thought and been replaced by seemingly insatiable longing, the urgent need to quell it.

The angel let out a deep, throaty groan, smirking, as the demon pulled his hair back to feast on his neck. He was pleased by the forcefulness and desperation of the action, knowing it would now only be a matter of time before the demon would become his. He met Crowley’s gaze and felt the electric heat between them. Aziraphale’s eyes were crazed, glittering with bestial wants and the knowledge of having the power to take them.

Nothing mattered or existed in this moment, save the aching in his cock, and Crowley’s enthusiastic reciprocation edged him further into his savage, insatiable lust. Concerned with neither Heaven nor Hell, he silently dared them to look upon them in their passionate debauchery.

The angel began to tease down his chest, kissing and biting his way over Crowley’s ribs. He delighted in the slim figure being underneath him, responding to his whim and will. He slid off of his lap, poising between the demon’s legs now, his own resting on the floor beneath him.

Aziraphale continued to kiss and suck and bite his way down to the slender hips which were so desperately eager to meet his mouth, slowly tugging the demon’s pants free, coaxing them to rest around Crowley’s knees. In his sadism, he kept the underwear in place, rubbing against them with wicked pleasure.

He drug his nails against bare thighs, returning his mouth to hips, stopping to brush along the front of the demon’s underclothes along the way. His mouth, hot and welcoming, sloppily teased the demon’s hips and inner thighs. Aziraphale held a hip down with one hand, and teased the last remaining piece of cloth that separated their skin’s touch with the other. He bit against the soft, delicate skin on the demon’s inner thigh, sucking a bruise into the pale, creamy flesh.

Crowley was fast learning just how much he liked _listening_ to Aziraphale. Not quite so much as looking at him, he decided, following the path of his descent with eyes glinting gold in the dark.

The demon parted his thighs, unabashed, and drank in the sight of the angel kneeling between them. He couldn't look away - not from the sight of Aziraphale, always so virtuous and pure and the implication of what lewd acts would follow as his mouth trailed reddened marks between his hips. In a distant corner of his mind still capable of rationality, he hoped they'd last. He'd bask in them thoroughly later.

His skin was flushed, warming by the second beneath the angel's ministrations. Crowley's hips lifted easily as the other tugged at his jeans, loosing a somewhat ragged sigh as the denim slid coarsely over dark underwear, sending a ripple of pleasure through his form. It was amplified a moment later as Aziraphale teased him through the fabric, which was already tellingly damp, betraying the extent of his need.

Crowley felt the caress of warm breath that accompanied the brush of Aziraphale's lips and his hips rocked fluidly, desperate to chase that sensation. Desire pounded through him, urgent and demanding, reflecting in the ever-tightening grip on the angel's hair. Aziraphale held him down, and it earned a low groan of frustration that quickly edged into one of pleasure as he bit at sensitive skin. Crowley's own nails raked Aziraphale's scalp, encouraging.

He free hand wandered across his own chest with the angel out of its reach, stroking, pinching, occasionally stilling in the distraction of the pleasure the other provided him, digging half-moon welts into skin. He strained to meet every touch, shifting ceaselessly yet barely at all, somehow managing to allow even the tiniest movements to encompass the entirety of his lithe form. He loved the teasing, and loved being on display even more.

Aziraphale felt Crowley shifting and squirming beneath him, wriggling with agonizing pleasure. It was enticing, filling his mind with fantasies of other pleasures involving the demon underneath his weight. The angel shivered, his entire body burning with desire and arousal, patiently waiting for the moment to ripen.

Aziraphale gradually coaxed the underwear down Crowley’s slim legs, letting the fabric drag slowly and excruciatingly against the demon’s sensitive skin. Blue eyes locked onto the serpent’s golden ones, unwavering. Again, he began licking and kissing his inner thighs, and explored Crowley’s pubis, gently dancing his fingers closer to his ache. He had no intentions of satisfying the demon, not until he begged for it, suffered for it, _needed_ it.

He grabbed each of the demon’s thighs, kissing along the crevice of hip and inner thigh, dragging his tongue and lips along it, tantalizing promises of what was to come. Aziraphale moaned against him slightly, letting the vibrations tickle their way into Crowley’s lusty madness. His breath was measured and controlled, finding peacefulness and strength in the methodical, sensual torture.

What began as a display for Aziraphale's benefit slowly began to unravel into something more urgent, more desperate. His hips twitched beneath the touches, the heat of his mouth searing over sensitized skin, and Crowley could only think of where it _wasn't_ as he writhed in his hold.

The demon's brow furrowed in a mix of something between pleasure and impatience, the two clashing on his features in ever-worsening frustration. He was starved for him, so near satiating the need that had burned within him for millennia that it was maddening, a sharp hunger that made itself known in shallow, near ragged breaths and bitten back groans, the first of which died stubbornly in his throat until he no longer had the presence of mind to contain them.

Even the sight of him was nearly too much, his soft features tinged in a carnal darkness, a note of sadism that sent a tremor through his form. He felt suspended in an unreal haze that fogged his mind, dulled his perception to anything but the angel between his legs, intent in his torment to the point Crowley thought it might actually break him.

He'd never wanted anything more.

"Aziraphale," he ground out, thickly, and even he didn't know if it were a demand or a prayer for reprieve, laced with the same wanton lust that dominated his gaze. A leg wound across his back so much as the confines of his jeans allowed, urging.

The angel wasn’t satisfied yet and it sparked wickedness in his soul. Crowley had to plead for it, cry out for it, and be willing to do anything for it. He _would_ beg, and Aziraphale wanted nothing more than to see him deliciously, and thoroughly, _broken_. Only then would he alleviate the demon’s suffering, satiating his own desires in the process.

“Yes, love?” he whispered in a raspy, strained voice, letting the sensation of his breath float across Crowley’s aching cock. The angel grabbed him where hip met inner thigh, one hand on each side, his grip firm and domineering.

He brushed his lips up Crowley’s shaft with light, tormenting kisses, feeling the demon quiver beneath him. Every so often he would bless him with a lap of his tongue, finding the best spots to kindle the restless, unrelenting misery.

Aziraphale was mad with lust, throbbing with it. His breathing became quicker, his own need becoming painfully intense, manifesting itself as a rougher grasp and a growing sensation of sadistic aggression.

Crowley's arm was draped loosely across his abdomen, nails dug sharply into his own side in some vague effort to ground himself - he barely even registered the pain, too lost in the angel's torturous game to spare it a shred of attention.

His hips jolted at the first touch of Aziraphale's lips, and Crowley swore to himself as his head tilted back, following the impossibly tense arch of his spine. Every muscle ached for how tightly wound he was, had been for minutes now, and he felt every inch of his body scream for contact, for release, the anticipation at the notion of it sending another mild shiver through his frame.

"Aziraphale, _please_ -"

He felt Aziraphale's hands tighten and groaned through clenched teeth, not bothering to quiet himself.

He didn't care. Needed him, fingers roving aimlessly, pleadingly through his hair, brushing the side of his face and he forced himself to meet his eyes again, his own smoldering against the other's colder blue stare, entranced and wanting.

"I can't wait anymore," the words were a breathless rush, the last scraps of coherence he could muster in the midst of such delicious torture. He couldn't think. Could barely speak, just wanted Aziraphale, atop him, around him, impossibly close, whatever the angel might deign to grant him.

Aziraphale’s heart fluttered. He loved it, thrived on it, on hearing the demon beg for _him_, needing _him_ so desperately that his usual coolness crumbled into breathy moans and frantic pleas. Aziraphale was equally tortured now, hips rocking slightly but expectantly. His self-control deteriorated, eased itself to the edge of madness. And when the demon broke, he too, was broken.

Suddenly the angel was upon him, their clothes miracled hastily away, their cocks slick with oil. He met the demons mouth hungrily, with a savage ferocity of lust, tongue exploring as if it’d never get enough. Slight whimpers escaped his lips, betraying his own painful, frenzied ache.

He began stroking Crowley, lightly at first, responding to the demon’s want, matching the pace to be slightly slower than he needed, slightly maddening, still wickedly enjoying Crowley’s torment.

The angel was biting at his throat now, sucking the reddened skin raw. He was trembling, unraveling, his own eyes matching the demon’s pleading gaze. He needed him, would do anything to have him. Would take him.

He pushed himself into Crowley, crying out with a guttural groan of euphoric pleasure, the demon’s tight warmth stripping his last shreds of composure away. His hips rocked gently, but steadily, eventually finding a rhythm that would make up for 6000 years of longing. The ecstasy was overwhelming, grunts and moans ripping themselves from his lungs unhindered.

Crowley'd rarely found himself on the receiving end of such torment; he delighted in it, but - perhaps by demonic nature - tended to excel at inflicting it, which meant he often fell naturally into the role. Aziraphale assuming it so easily was a surprise - a _pleasant_ one - and the demon was still lost in the fog of it when the angel's weight sunk into him.

Something snapped - the spell broken, the restraint wound through him by Aziraphale's unspoken commands no longer a necessity, and the demon's furious hunger consumed him all at once.

He claimed a shuddering breath, nails raking his own skin as he loosened the white-knuckled hold in favor of coiling that arm around Aziraphale's shoulders. The angel kissed him and he bit sharply at his lower lip, a brief reprimand for making him wait, nails dragging roughly over the notches of his spine.

Aziraphale's hand around his cock tore a low growl from his throat and he rocked to meet it, coiled his legs around him as his own lips smeared messily toward the angel's ear. He wanted him to hear the broken groan of his name, all breath and reverence when Aziraphale entered him, wanted him to hear the lewd moans and murmurs that escaped between sharp bites and flickers of tongue (_ruin me, angel, make me yours_).

The movements were carnal and unrestrained as Crowley snaked his hips up to meet Aziraphale's, moving with him, coaxing him through unhinged motions which had no business being half as graceful as they were. Sharp red scratches bloomed over the pale skin of the angel's back, none of them too harsh, too violent - he was still being _careful_, mindful of every reaction, every hitched breath and moan to better learn what his angel liked, what he didn't, adjusting as he went along.

Eventually, Crowley moved - didn't part from him, just shifted them both with surprising strength to force Aziraphale roughly against the back of the couch. The ferocity was a product of his impatience, and the other had cultivated it well. His eyes locked on Aziraphale's, all but unhinged as he straddled him, undulated in his lap, painfully slow. He savored the look on his angel's face, teasing him like that a moment longer before his movements quickened into a constant and sensual rhythm.

He claimed another messy kiss, groaning into the exchange. His eyes lidded shut in overt rapture - six thousand years he'd waited to devour him, to be devoured, to be _his_ and he knew nothing else in Heaven or in Hell that compared, knew he'd wait six thousand years more if he could experience even a shred of the same pleasure again.

"Aziraphale," it was a breath between them, half against his lips, a repeated mantra that unraveled further with every utterance.

The angel threw his head back in ecstasy, groaning as the demon pushed him into the back of the couch. It was torturous as he teased him with slow, deliberate motion. Aziraphale, only letting slip a few moans prior to this new position, was very vocal now. The building pleasure rang in his voice, deep and throaty, a different type of raspy music compared to his usual singsong. His blue eyes were euphoric, filled with passionate indulgence.

His back arched, as the demon worked faster now, Aziraphale’s nails clawing his back towards his ribs violently, unhindered, red droplets blooming along their path. The satisfaction was intense, overwhelming. The delirious pleasure was twisted into his face, laced in each ravenous kiss. He never wanted it to end. He wanted Crowley to fuck him forever, just like this, hitting all the right spots in all the right ways, but he felt his climax coiling inside, dangerously close to release.

The sensation was nearly unbearable now; the demon tempting him to his edge. Aziraphale found himself gasping the demon’s name, nails digging into the flesh of his back, vociferous grunts escaping his throat as he savored the carnal delights of their union.

He lifted the demon, wrapping his arms underneath his hips, hoisting them up together. The coffee table was miraculously flung aside, and it smashed into the opposite side of the room thunderously. The wood splintered and glass wine bottles shattered noisily, accompanied by the sound of liquid dripping onto the floor. He was frantic now, pleasure blinding him to everything but the demon wrapped, torrid and constricting, around his throbbing, aching cock. Aziraphale shoved Crowley against the wall, hips pumping with renewed vigor.

The angel was glistening with sweat and bliss. He bit the demon’s lower lip roughly, drawing blood, only to kiss and lick it away. A desperate fervor overcame him, tormenting him with this exquisite, boundless pleasure.

He fucked Crowley hard against the wall, cried his name in ecstasy, made it known that he’d been waiting for this for so unbearably long, and after a while, he found a familiar building sensation tingling within him.

He lowered the demon, forcing him onto all fours savagely, nearly shouting with pleasure as he reentered him, stroking the demon’s cock in earnest, matching the tempo which best suited his liking, determined to feel Crowley’s release before enjoying his own. It was pure, delicious agony, and the angel was so close, so on edge, he wanted to give into it, wanted to explode inside the demon’s welcoming body.

Crowley spat curses as the stinging heat of those scratches bloomed out from the source, the pain lending a sharpened sense of urgency to the pleasure, intertwining in a way that nearly drove him mad as he sucked appreciative kisses into Aziraphale's skin. His neck, his shoulder, his chest were dotted with bite marks and bruises where the demon's self control had faltered, where the want to leave him something to _remember_ had grown too powerful, the want to mark him as his own.

Aziraphale was lifting him and Crowley's limbs wound around him, automatic, unflinching as the table crashed across the room. His focus was on Aziraphale and Aziraphale alone, on the dull warmth building in his abdomen and spidering outward, thrumming by the second toward an inevitable end for which he wasn't yet prepared.

His muscles clenched when Aziraphale forced him to the wall, and Crowley jolted forward as his wings burst forth around them - intentionally or not was hard to say from the way they curled around the angel with such immediacy, shoving him nearer without regard for the fact he was already impossibly close.

He tasted blood between them and a darkly indulgent haziness masked his eyes, a smear of red across his lower lip that bled to the corner of his mouth when Aziraphale licked it away. He chased his tongue, loosing something that bordered a _whimper_; he goaded him with enticing, borderline nonsensical murmurs, continual demands for _more_ and _harder_ and endless expletives panted against the angel's ear.

There was a longer groan of something that bordered on disbelief when Aziraphale forced him to his knees, wings limp and dusting the floor to either side of him. The red, some glistening, marks on his back twisted with every subtle movement, contrasted sharply against the backdrop of pale skin as Crowley rocked back to meet him. His own head hung forward, forearms flat to the floor beneath him; he was nearly overcome with pleasure, unable to think past the heat pooling in his abdomen, threatening to overflow-

And then it did.

Crowley loosed a strangled gasp of the other's name. His forehead, slick with sweat settled into the crook of his wrist on the floor, upper body slackening and sinking lower as he was overcome. His hips jolted out of rhythm, unbidden, every muscle clenched in the wake of intense waves of pleasure, racking his thin frame.

Crowley didn't need God. Crowley had Aziraphale, and he'd given him absolution.

Aziraphale felt the demon’s internal quivering, beckoning him to give into the pleasure, to find his satisfaction. He moaned, loud and wanton, feeling the come flooding his fingers, enjoying the demon bucking and writhing beneath him in glorious release.

Aziraphale, having fulfilled his partner’s needs, began to quicken his pace, which now became a pounding, tormented rhythm. It was rough and needy, begging for the salvation to overtake his agonizingly prolonged torture.

He felt his orgasm build, coaxing and teasing its release with each thrust into Crowley’s receptive body. His hands held the demon’s hips firmly, nails digging into flesh. Aziraphale felt his abdominals tense, felt the heat and pleasure and ecstasy rise. He cried out in blissful salvation, head thrown back in luxurious fulfillment, surrendering himself entirely to the lust and tension, feeling a pleasant spasm in his cock as his seed spilled inside the demon.

His breath was heavy and labored, and he leaned forward to kiss the demon between his wings. He noticed, to his delight and surprise, a single grey feather swimming in the sea of blackness. He said nothing, not now, not after this Divine ordeal, but made a mental note for the near future.

He lingered inside, enjoying the intimacy, and it was with great sorrow that he untangled their bodies. Enjoying their sloppy mess and heavy scent for a while longer, he didn’t bother miracling them clean. He enjoyed their bruising and fluids and filth, which was the furthest possible thing from Heaven. He pulled the demon into his arms, spooning him in a tender, satisfied embrace with a contented sigh.

Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s neck with affectionate tenderness, rubbing his back and wings and the curve of his neck with a gentle hand.

“I love you,” he whispered into the demon’s ear. His voice was soft and low, and slightly hoarse. “More than anything”.

Crowley continued to move with him, dragging out the moment, awash in the sensation of Aziraphale inside him with a mind no longer so wholly consumed by his own desire. He wanted to look, wanted to _see_ him, but he settled for listening instead, lips curving into a tired, fulfilled smile as the angel followed him over the edge, cried out, a sound he committed to memory the moment he heard it, filed away amidst everything else _Aziraphale_.

Slowly, the demon's body eased its way to the floor. He basked in the warmth of the angel above him, the scent, the dulling waves of pleasure slowly replacing themselves with the ache of bruises and sting of rough scratches that littered his form. He luxuriated in the pain, in the contrasting gentle brush of Aziraphale's lips between his wings.

The demon was practically limp as Aziraphale drew him into his arms, a sweaty, sticky mess of ruffled feathers and heat, but he nestled closer all the same. His mind hadn't made its way back to him yet - he didn't want it to, wanted to stay in the moment that was so close to perfect, plagued by none of his usual anxieties.

He felt whole.

It was unfamiliar, and transcendent, and he wanted to hold onto it for as long as he could.

His wings twitched slightly beneath the gentle touch, but he was quick to relax again when Aziraphale spoke. He inhaled deeply as the words settled over him, igniting a new warmth in his chest, one that was rather less sinful.

He still felt strange, saying the words. He'd spent so much of his existence willing himself not to; they still stuck in his throat, vicious and aching with the unending depth of the emotion behind them. Crowley reached blindly for one of the angel's hands, coiled fingers cupping it firmly to his chest, over the rapid thrum of his heart.

Though his reply went unspoken, he hoped Aziraphale heard it.


End file.
